and when they come for us, i will lay you down at the mouth of the river, and dismantle the knots and vestiges in the deepest cavities of your chest. The day has met its crux. Though my back is weary with sediment and shadow, i will carry you. Oh great machinery i will carry your pale iron shell as if the patterns of its framework, made up the ridges of my very spine. No thought of Semblance, straying from her pane, a barrage of steel and cold welded plaster. In her arms she carried a doe, and though its hide remained unscathed it dwelt in a fleeting season. Lay the figure at my feet, i embraced its splintering frame. Father to nothing, son to no one, love is lost, love is gone. As the cornea descends into the broad steel landscape, eyelids forced open, desertion it festers, no resonance.
Polish noise-crust outfit eschews the big Tragedy-esque riffs still popular with their US counterparts for scratchy claustrophobia. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 2, 2016