Ice cold pots bathed with pure gold
The thrones which we sit upon lie basking in mould
Calling for someone to come forth and carry us home to our halls made of bone
When the sun rises, but before the dew starts to form
My mind is running in circles as to what had happened the night before
Boys night out
Let's fucking go
Wash off the stench from the night before
My mouth tastes like dirt
I could not face more beer
The Alberta crushers hold tight to their rank, astral-gazing grindcore, staring down abyssal torment all the while. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 31, 2020