Next Level Apparel, 100% cotton, fitted T-shirt. White ink on black shirt.
Includes unlimited streaming of Malady's Black Maw
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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lyrics
Today I lay restless, hysterical, and nauseated beyond control.
Today is the day I was brought to this world, offering it nothing in return, a true condemnation.
Two years of pure fucking agony it has already been.
There’s nothing I want more than to see your luminous smile.
I know you didn’t want to leave.
We tried all we could, you tried your hardest.
Why would God have chosen you? It doesn’t make any sense.
You were so thoughtful, vigorous, and perfect.
I know you did not want to leave, why would God have chosen you?
6 months of misery for you has led to a wasted 45 years for me.
After 2 years of what I already thought could be the lowest my life can get, he won’t respond to me, nothing.
I yearn for a glimmer of hope, but I feel a my life has been stripped from me.
My life stripped from me, leaving me cold, empty, and worthless.
I don’t know what to do.
I reach out for help, society, hot lines, a deity.
No response, I’m worthless, I’m dead in everyone’s eyes.
supported by 32 fans who also own “47 Years Stripped Away”
Hearing the songs while reading the narrative behind the lyrics, I felt overwhelmed by this tragic story in which humans and artificial intelligence couldn't coexist side by side. Their reciprocal annihilation was inevitable. Except one "sole survivor, in a ship filled with memories. She had become the proof of Earth, proof that life had existed there, a voice for all the species and beauty we once knew". A dystopian concept dressed up in brilliant musicianship! @Slevin, thanks, I owe it to you! Umbra Cornuta
supported by 32 fans who also own “47 Years Stripped Away”
On ne frappe pas un homme à terre : c'est ce que dit la règle mais NONE a déjà prouvé qu'il ne les suivait pas et si son album éponyme retirait toute perspective de béatitude spirituelle, Life has gone on long enough, son deuxième opus, nous interdit l'accès au bonheur terrestre. La vie n'a aucune substance et la production plus distante le confirme. Le DSBM s'empare de textures sonores blues, mettant en relief une dépression urbaine. Les cris partent en fumées : ne restent que les pleurs... Jordan Vauvert