my sweet lord was at the mobile home
softly crying
painting nails eating flesh
drinking defiled blood with everyone
i’ll rise to die again
you won’t find my body
cause i made poor friends
bloody lips taking sips
in what i’m putting out now
drinking ammonia without anyone
mixed with my saviors tears
i’ll rise to die again
you won’t find my body
because i have no friends
High-wire minimalist post-punk of the finest sort: the poetry of daily banality spit over molten guitar solos and elastic rhythms. Bandcamp New & Notable Dec 20, 2017