Canvas
avant-garde jazz illbient
July 4th, 2024suno
Lyrics
The hour of reckoning is upon us.
Hear now the toll of that there bell.
Can you not hear its deathly knell?
Its clarion call for we poor slaves
to return once more to mill
our backs-our-bones to meal
for He-who-grasps-our-soul
Handily in cold hands
hands warmed only by the furnace of our fury.
White his void filled only by our mad passion
Empty until our hearts there paint him with
our torment our misery our defiance
to the grey world beyond its bound'ry
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