Godether Songtext
von Mourning Beloveth

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