We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

XXIX​:​VI

from Strangers by Writhe

/

lyrics

XXIX:VI
Time came and went. Tongues cut and twisted up in a million knots. Riven limbs die off and rot when severed from the trunk. This vessel impuissant, can no longer withstand. I have nothing more to offer up. Nothing more than these hands hold dear. The harbinger of death is near and though I've kept him long at bay, he has been keeping count of foolery in my decisions. There is nothing left here to praise. A monument of filth and avarice. Behold, cultured forbearance of the truth, and in my hand a hangman's noose. I've become the scythe and the reaper, and I will rip what has been sown. You know spoils of deceit; your death will be my holiday.

credits

from Strangers, released August 24, 2013

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Writhe image

Writhe Burlington, Vermont

Jordan Paolini
Drew Storcks
TJ Maynard
John Stella

contact / help

Contact Writhe

Streaming and
Download help

Report this track or account

If you like Writhe, you may also like:

Bandcamp Daily  your guide to the world of Bandcamp

On Bandcamp Radio

Beans joins the show to discuss his album release, "ZWAARD".

listen now