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The Malingering Signs

from THE CANONGRINDER by WRØNG

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lyrics

The living man howls at the sea.
Calls to the past to come mother the free.
To uproot the great white burning tree.
For now there remains but only three.

Its vile fourth eye darted and scanned for it wanted to see who would smack his hammer against the warhead.

Do not shoot the messenger of death,
For he brings only the words dictated by your own foul breath.
He beckon us all towards the solemn door.
It’s time we must return from whence we came before.

And the day they failed to put it in,
Was the day foretold for the swells to begin.

A beast of such burden and vulgar lament,
Enough force in his word to warp the sacred stone.
It spoke with the conviction of the celestial giants.
Sounding his steps in the great void hall.
Gaze never tearing, its goal never wavering.
Staring, staring, staring, staring.

The heathens, the doubters of the northern sign.
How dare you point your finger at mine.

Sirens rolling through the towering hills.
Burrowing through your thoughts louder than ten thousand boring drills.

Always demanding favour and never repaying.
While everyone watches their life-line a-fraying.
With their loved ones silently crying for they wish they could help.
While their enemies eagerly anticipate the return of their precious gelt.

This land of mine, a pulsating mound.
Gestated in the minds of those who surround.
I don’t know whether to pick things up or put things down.
Here in this land that taught me to drown.

The mason clapping his hand on the stone.
Whilst the butcher is gnawing and gnashing on bones.
The man of the salt wails and moans,
As he toils and mines into worlds of his own.

Listen to the words of those who worship the sound.
Unheard by the living, by only the found.
By the screaming soul of the cold, hard ground.
Here in this land that taught us to drown.


This land of the dirt and the shattered crown.
This land of dirt that taught us to drown.
This drowning land that shattered its crown.
So it could finally hear the deafening sound.

Do not shoot the messenger of death.
For he only brings the words dictated by your own foul breath.

He forces your hand to rewrite what’s long been written.
It must be you who is to open the blackened door.
Writhe in the waters cast down by oblivion.
It’s time we must return from whence we came before.

And to those who doubted the malingering signs.
How dare you point your finger at mine.

credits

from THE CANONGRINDER, released July 30, 2016

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WRØNG Melbourne, Australia

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