Lyrics Godether - Mourning Beloveth

Godether

It may have seemed a sign of hope that we are surrounded by humanity
But they are merely there to pick our bones malignant
Growing on the mind like mould a mere sliver of light drifting
Between wars and plagues but there is no sound of violence no famine of the mind
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes
Trying to crawl back through creation, just plugged in expecting to peak
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes
Seed aching to perfect itself anchored by coffins and the slums of the
subconscious
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes
Where we boil our own cancers torn from the caul, the curds of gestation
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes
It’s in the gut in the soil of the land the dreams in the stars of blood and
terror
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes
A whore moon probed to life by groping entropy presumed to be the gods just
aching for existence
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes
Nothing left but corruption a place in the sky?
Alongside the artifacts of some played out civilization
Phosphine dreams space dust in tune drifting through stars
The purest of light
Elements of the age the red gout of light no famine of the mind
Blood blown moons without life suns and molten planets
Outside the mind
Precession of equinoxes a world created on a lie
Three kings follow a star
The only gout of light?
The ancient dream stars and earth collide
No famine, no famine of the mind
The insufferable stretch of time down the gullied abattoirs of the mind the old
world a Bethlehem in the sky dead roots dead time corruption seeps into the
light the ancient dream through the red gout of light the ancient dream a
palace in the sky
A cold spiral of systems created to destroy a dense mass of consciousness
created without life held together by dust worms and the dead time through a
mere sliver of light the sun a mockery in the sky forming galaxies the
all-consuming life the ancient dream destruction of mankind
An epoch of time cutting a red line through the rusted sky
At war with the microcosm reality is just the consensus attending its ancient
agenda
For our culture tricks us into accepting it as consciousness just beyond some
periphery
But now they are coming they could smell the blood Elements personified to
nothing