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Facies Hippocratica

by Cemetery Cursive

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1.
Intro 01:25
2.
Circular logic, labyrinthine mayhem. Embedded discontentedness, Astarion by the banks. Looming in the overgrowth invisible to us, peering down our tumid throats. Who beckoned who in this hell-bent helix where evasion was our jurisprudence, perched atop a windswept citadel while floodwaters lapped at its outer edges? Laid bare like cocoons in full reverse, and I still can’t believe it.
3.
A glimmer in your eye as my penance pose is captured through court-appointed penmanship, shaded by the graphite smear of bulletproof glass. Feeling for the rose-coloured contacts you’ve lost. Recompense resentment in rejection of our past. An able character witness, the onset of senility notwithstanding. The only surface left to scour where your fingerprints seemed to leave a dent. The sole remaining breath no smothering could ably circumvent. To look past your swollen confidence that scowls at truth, no matter how remote. To mask my sullen conscience, jury hung by argent rope.
4.
Turn the other leprous cheek, head in hands and knuckle deep in hollowed sockets. Sleep a wholly repressed memory. Embattled moral obligation coupled with an epistemological distortion. Earning royal favour. Retrograde is a constant in equations of self sabotage. The answers I’ve posited direct the air inflating this mirage. Will the blinders be dismantled? Instill some precedent for habeas corpus. Assisted dying behind bars, testing the vaccine on those beyond rehabilitation.
5.
How could I obfuscate the lure of clement nature? Dust-choked bundles of leaves brushed from the state of our legislature. If only I could be a punctilious plague, deflecting all forgiveness to the grave and accepting adjournment of this furious spate.
6.
I've sacrificed my agency, retiring in disgrace. In your vocation I was always out of place, a splash of reddish brown on renovated tile. For service animals, the affection of strangers is forbidden. No one is permitted to get close, and if it tries to eat from your hand, withdraw post-haste using language that a mongrel understands. Dissolved in your two-state solution.
7.
Shrunken to a pale face in a dollhouse while the collector who once cherished your constructs lights a match. Withholding final words until your diaphragm snaps like a weather-beaten wicker man. This sordid juggernaut can only stumble to its death.
8.
Intermission 02:01
9.
Taken to task through tablature, a perpetual coda chiseling meekly at your likeness. A regulatory framework for cherished intangibles. Slap a fresh coat on the damage and turn stucco to stalagmites. Burn the base of the urn while a splintered cane scrapes our oxidized remains. Please leave something that forensics can use to piece together the narrative and present to the prosecution. Metempsychosis on death row for the gleefully repentant. Form letter regrets for my surprise party in the isolation ward.
10.
My cosmopolitan counterpart, wherein lies the crooked countenance I counted on for closure? No craving for conflict now that justice is jettisoned. No engravings mark the sequestering of this sentiment. No waxing bitterness, just war-weary whimpers of warning. Beneath the waning fluorescents I will retune my instruments, if only to toughen the tender spot that precious metal once depressed. Can you hold this consolation caress in your sleep, if only to coax a second thought moments after I leap?
11.
Pro bono aid is rarely service with a smile. Offenders mercantile lock horns to form a prism four-sided, but Belial knows better than to intervene, for hubris hurriedly will colour in the space that’s spread between. The warrant pining to be seen, not posted here unopened, sealed henceforth through reprobative means. How does one repossess a hearse, or offer blessings from a witness stand you've cursed? The bailiff turfed – to hell with retroactive worth.
12.
Evening after evening stoking embers of preservation, threading celluloid to feed illusion. Looking backwards, you could see his silhouette in the outline just behind what he’d project. The douser kept the union of sound and image unobstructed, but it was the flicker of the shutter at which they marvelled. He held the audience in laughter and suspense, even as technology and trends became a threat. One day the office door swung wide and a superior beckoned. A sinking feeling grew more frenzied with each supine second. A decision was made after lengthy consultations on the relevance of skill sets in their future operations. They said “you'll stay here for the time being in in a limited capacity for periodic screenings of repertory content”, that “you'll always be valued as a key part of our history, and remain an elder statesman”, though their first priority was rent. He often wondered if the change of reels he’d mastered they would recollect, or missed the rusting skeletons that lay beneath the sheets. But once or twice a month he took the accolades that he could get, and struggled not to sob as he convinced himself to sleep.
13.
The ground is neither here nor there. We plunge dismayed in open air. An aperture allowing us a scattered sojourning through antitrust. Proceedings open to public shaming and grief awoken through victim blaming. A black bile oligarchy in our backyard. A rank and file story arc drilled to shards. My faith debriefing my unconscious like a dream. Infantile efforts to push onwards wipe it clean. A flying fortress narrowed to a speck in this refuted vision, cupping my palms over a furrowed brow. A dying caucus with its speaker bound and tongue-tied. And at the speed of dampened sound, a spectre springs from the encroaching darkness as I am cradled in the eye of creation. A wistful vacancy of fear and doubt where the alarm never sounds for an escape route. Where my complacency translates into permanence. A catastrophe no longer purposeless.
14.
Motivation greed and pride. You don't care how many die. Mother earth raped once more, mutilated to the core. Never sharing. Never caring. Fill your pockets with the stench of profit. Don't you see what you have done? Blocking out the fucking sun. Savage progress. Twist the fate. You don't see until it's too late.
15.
Outro 01:25

about

Recorded 2017-2018 by Alex G. at The Cave in Toronto and Leezus at New Lardpit Studios in Peterborough.
Mixed and mastered by Leezus
All songs by Cemetery Cursive except "Stench of Profit" by Brutal Truth
Additional vocals on "Forced to Conclude" by Isabelle Tazbir
Additional vocals on "(Twelve Strings) Of Piano Wire" by Alex G.
Organ on "Intro", "Intermission" and "Outro" by Leezus

credits

released July 19, 2018

Alex G. - guitars, artwork
Leezus - drums, backing vocals
M.D.D. - vocals, lyrics

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Cemetery Cursive Toronto, Ontario

We are a grindcore band from Toronto formed in 2017 from the ashes of Witches From Everywhere.

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