Mourning Parades (rough-no chorus)
ok flow...got too many breath pauses...conceptually my most advanced track yet....my visions walking down the street inspired by TS Eliot's 'The Waste Land'......typical London bleakness and death....no chorus as of yet...using a Stoupe beat
Inquisition
I am Inquisition that I am...... --sick rapper.
An iconoclastal force welded into a male body.
Story behind the song
Life and its bleakness.......an insignificant grouse against life hahahahahaha!
Lyrics
Mourning Parades
LIBERATE TUTEME EX INFERIS
London open road nothing but the moan of groaning open roads
The open road, the zone of working but broken crones
Where no-ones home From the clock's hated call
Now I grope the railings of this concrete gaping maw, taking all
To their vacant cause At a quarter eight
All The corpses scrape by in a walking tortured state
On towards their place of rest I'm caught and faced with yawning eyes
haunting forms of life flowing past in a storm of sighs
Traumatised in contorted pain but they're jus a form of grey
Hordes that play in mourning parades for the awful day
and born again the sun straining crawls in pain to warm the place
But its all in vain she only sheds her light on walks of hate
While Overhead come the rows of dead crows in the mirky sky
With thirsty eyes round and round they scrounge and circle high
Like vultures dressing as black angels of death
As the pavement carrion gravely step the slaves of the flesh.
Nuclear winter comes at the middle and the dead of day
As the heavens spray with pleasure their never relenting rain
And the weather stains roads of hunched umbrellas
That cover dungeon dwellers their bodies crunched and undeveloped
And Among their fellows are the crosses on their frosted iris
Lost in silence with two coins in the tops of their eyelids
Living Rotting lifeless and weak as I wander through these chartered streets
Half deceased as the hardened parts of my jaws start to creak in
Laughing after the ominous solemn gloom that lurks and tells
Its songs of doom in every toll of the church's bells
The grounds drowning in cold and the stench of Auschwitz
Men jus sitting on benches like they had their necks and bowels slit their heads
Left slouching in the air that’s already thick and watered with
a mass of human ash and stiffened rigor mortis
where little withered forms are limping it by under the limitless sky
but always glimpsing at stuff of nothingness in a nihilist eye
Times past and Its midnight in the garden of good and evil
Our father who art in wooden steeples is looking feeble
Even dead amongst these hooded people skulking the street
Engulfed in the sleep but still walking like some cold withered meat
And Holding their dreams but tripping, tearing their arms
On the precarious paths alone and unfocused for staring at stars
And Buried in hearts mind forged fetters and chains
Impressing their strains on whats left in the brains
Of the grave beggars in lanes now decrepid and laid in their beds to decay
Their precious seconds ebbing away to an eventual fade
into the cement and the vague as the darkness blows its rasping tones
slithering under the scarves and clothes then biting and carving its marks of woe
on the hardest bones and outside the off licences
violence lives in the tyrant drunks that screech killing the silences
in dreary streets and the cacophonous crowds
I wish the searing heat of apocalypse now
Stop the beat HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
http://almightwind.com/hell/aboutsounds.htm
http://almightywind.com/mp3/citizenhellsong.mp3
I also stole words and phrases also from William Blake's 'London' and T.S. Eliot's 'The Wasteland so they can sue me from beyond the grave....
