On the hillside
Steeped in ruin
Awaiting the moment
Of our enemy’s demise
Crucial, Strategic
Barbaric warfare
Preemptive, despicable
Glorious crimes of war
This is our moment, our brutal conquest begins
Daggers drawn
Archers prepped
Fires lit
Sorcerers conjure
The echoing sound
Of rigid imperfect
Sharpening steel
Jaws clenched
Gritting enamel
Vascular
Weapons clenched
Rage is drawn
We are ready
No one will remain
Pure anticipation
Bloodlust supreme
All preparations
Finally made
We can wait no longer
We itch for death
This is an end
Of one or another
We march
To hope for theirs
In the air, stench
Of lye and Victory
Entrenched archers, launching the flame
Genocide atrocious will never be the same
Killing and running and burning and maimed
Thus our gain, With every scum that is slain
Launched boulders crush men into fine red mist
They're Killed with anything, including curled fist
Axes cut defenders in half rather swift
At this point, obviously no point to resist
With men on fire, sliced, and crushed to death
And only handfuls of coward surrendering left
On their knees, renouncing their mighty crest
They know its the passing of their final breath
Remaining are crucified, a holy sight to see
Now their realm is controlled by our monarchy
And all that is left of our enemy, mighty
Is the putrid stench of lye and victory
The metal’s band revelatory new record crosses genres and styles, effortlessly combining seemingly incompatible subgenres. Bandcamp Album of the Day Apr 26, 2024