No head, no hope.
I see a neck at the end of a rope.
You lead, they bleed, I need a lie
so you provide it.
No words, no mouth.
A black hole sucking and emptied out.
Our greed, our need, our want to die.
Hope they caught it.
And if there was mercy…the spectacle serves up revenge.
One hit won’t hurt.
Sit still and ravage the earth.
So cold, so cold and guilty.
Sit still. Time Killed.
Sick still. So thrilled.
I can’t hear you screaming at me.
No head, no home.
I see a neck at the end of a rope.
You lead, they bleed, I need a lie
so provide it.
One hit won’t hurt.
Sit still and ravage the earth.
So cold, so cold and guilty.
Sit still. Time Killed.
Sick still. So thrilled.
You’ll have your thrill.
I’m here.
I’m there.
I’m nowhere.
I’m everywhere.
I found it, a shadow of myself.
I saw it, it’s there.
Now testify: I saw it, it’s there.
Our infinite all-nothing.
My cradle.
I’m lapping up your milk
and held against your bosom.
I’m bleeding out your love,
my tower of blood
and Babel.
Now build me up
and take me apart.
Death and ruin
from the start.
Screamo, post-rock, and a little black metal meld together for Virginia quartet Infant Island's signature immersive and melancholy sound. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 28, 2020