The Blackest Volume (Like All the Earth Was Buried)

by Sunlight's Bane

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released February 17, 2017



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Sunlight's Bane Michigan

Midwestern grinding death painting an atmosphere of horror and visciousness across the necks of listeners.

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Track Name: Praise the Venom Shield
Slithering as watchful eyes tarry and elsewhere travel,
it would seem their feet are stayed.
But there is no encumbrance for those without
the weight of remorse.
The scales are imbalanced with the twist
of their pale, contemptuous forms,
baptizing the herds in their discontent.
Such was the promise made,
and still exalting arms demand its scald.
Truth cannot pierce what has been built stone by bitter stone
to meet their envenomed hearts with accolades.
We can merely watch as the opened wrists
of ones caressing jaundiced faces
are filled by the sallow fangs of those worshiped and loved.
The pen is no mightier
when it illustrates their image
and sings their praises.
May such refrain fall on deserving,
deafened ears.
A shield of forked tongue made,
to with teeth and venom strike the ardent hand.
Justice festers in the mouth of those
who sing their praises.
Track Name: Begrudging Soul
The frailty of that which separates
the lechers, the pangs of bewilderment
and frustration, has thrived.
I feel the hold of footing erode beneath me,
all progression thus far in vain.

I speak now only in tongues of spite,
horrified at the harshness of curses
I once dared not to speak.
Their searing edges burn expressions
of disdain and discontent into every inch of my flesh,
like a collection of faces preserved in mortar.
This insidious, foreign will grows into
thorns of vile intent, existing only to spread,
to flourish, to rend my spirit.
Promises I once had sworn to keep,
now forgotten and rotting
in the bowels of my anguish,
appeal to the reason of one no longer present.
Track Name: From Heaven Wept
Angelic host, cry ye may,
but turn your gaze on me
for no tear of heaven’s volume
can unbind the manacles of what sentence
the penitent eyes divulge.
Atone for what filth thou must witness impartial,
and through one, remit compassion.

It is in the pureness of day that such atrocities hide,
so dusk, I must become.
Lo there I descry what contorts between the hold of iron,
no semblance of the gentle stride which Eden sheltered once.

May your misery renew me.
Cries met with the mercy of none are
beset by a phalanx of granite expression,
the drought of eyes from heaven.

Unmoved, untouched by the throes of shameful tongue,
ye who has impoverished the innocent heart.

Every laceration, every piercing blow
will serve to remind you of what has been suffered.
No angel in this hour weeps.
Only anguish awaits.
Track Name: Cursed Diminished Years
What scorn the years have carved onto canvas,
imitating the shape and sight of self.
But it is farce, and you weep
from the sobering impression.

Does the soul sharpen
and eviscerate such doubts,
to act as flare above weary, bowing heads?
Does the smothered flame from ember breathe
to consume and illuminate once more?
You fear that it cannot.

The vacancy behind the eyes deceive.
There breathes something anew,
that which withers in the light of day.

All that has been lost, unease is not among its rank.
The yawn of bleak horizons brings yet no still.
For you, this conflict has no end.
Find from that struggle the gall to disavow
and hear no voice but yours within.

No voice but yours.
Track Name: I Am the Cold, Harsh Whispers In Hell
With eyes bemoaning the betrayal of callow assurance,
discolored in presence of muted legion,
behold your silhouetted enemy.

Your eyes will see this breadth of sunless province
embodying the loneliness of exile.
Cower at the words that you deny;
this is abandonment.
Beneath Iscariot who swings in eternal pendulum,
you will find comfort in none familiar.

Where warmth escapes you, hear only my voice
which serves to remind of all decisions
made in spite and wrath.
And hear between your broken voice
the sweet refrain of mine,
a whisper to accompany the eternal, waning emptiness.

Blessed be the tortured screams.
Track Name: Dance of Thorns
Seeds of aversion sewn
for want of shade in the vexing absence of
bear growth of vine upon surfaces within.

Branches climb through teeth to form
a voice of force in place of cries,
granting strength where none once grew.
Track Name: The Blessed Ivory Tongue
In mired vigil, we are shielded
by a force unmeasured,
awashed in nocturne but eager
to tread the warmth of day.

This vitriol that once sheltered
from the rain and stinging sun,
that reaped crops unyielded
and harvested the branch unreachable, 
is blackened now in your presence.

One to now stifle the pangs
of apathy wrought in those
with tooth and saber,
one once below who walks now above.

No more can this trespass be suffered.
No more can this transgression endure.
Hear now our chorus to invoke the face of pale.
From mouths now muted of virile timbre,
from limbs and foeter amassed,
from the barren loins of childless mothers…

Track Name: No Taste More Bitter
Lips sneer in the most honest of ways,
sharpened teeth gnashing with dissent.
My hands contort, becoming talons
buried in the pockets of this coat of patience.

If ever it were in me to forgive,
I have forgotten.
I am cancer in the lungs of every corrupt breath
you draw.
I am the black wings that obscure the moon,
casting dread for all I detest.

A shepherd in enemy’s land, I am unafraid.
I prey on wolves.

With crescent edged intent,
I will seek them out in their temples
and in their beds and in their homes
and in their shrines.
In anticipation, I have dug our graves.
Fang shaped justice, be my virtue.
Track Name: With Fear, This Love Is Given
Heavy hearts carry a weight unmeasured,
sinking as must a stone cast into a stir of waves.
With fear, this love is given,
burying into your heart like a wooden stake.

To grant this woeful traveler adoration
is to press moistened lips against frozen ground,
its virulent and unmoving touch
offering no shelter or embrace in return.
There is an emptiness where strides your gaze,
feigning upon your earnest intent.

And if it is willed that my strength should suffice,
I will keep you safe from the drudges of this life,
from waves of ruin harbored,
casting you safely back towards the shoreline.
Track Name: Came No Dawn
Footfall trumpets her withdrawal
in the eclipse of the tenebrous dim.
And between the rows of looming trees,
the gaze of eyes from within are dampened;
a companion uninvited,
without tongue but never silenced,
has unmade all she amorously held
with hands and teeth so rapacious.
Branch nor darkness nor depths observed
will deter or vex her ascent,
to heights from where sunlight desired most
will etch grave into earth.
May the ghost sing no longer.
Tempering the bladed guile of her steps
is the force of anxious heartbeats,
meeting the vastness of opened sky.
But only striations of doubt endear her.

There is no horizon, no dawn, no sun.
What stark indifference from the Earth and air find her,
her skin crawling like multitudes of insects.
One repressed now outstretches hands
and whispers once feared things,
once feared but welcomed now,
like pages of rotting poetry.
Would her soul suffice,
she would barter for the peace,
the nights that have grown sleepless
to still and be rid of such horror.
But it has wilted so.
What welcomes greet the approaching void,
its kiss like an answered prayer.
“Is this a surrender? Is this peace?”
She trembles in fragile, lightless air
as no daylight crawls across the land,
but cold cradles the night,
to hold her and embrace
what is yielded in surrender.

May sunlight never shine again.
Track Name: To Whom I Await
To the endearment of one as yet unmade, 
I may only ask once in the frailness of your image
of a boon undeserved and yet needed in desperation.
May these words illustrate with sincerity 
the terror of a soul from which your ailments derive…forgive me.

Would your kindness exceed the reach of my own,
I may ask only your forgiveness for that which I have given to you.

Still bleeds the wound of my intent,
pronouncing the syllables of every curse’s name
which I have extended to you.
From that which is the most base in me,
I forged in the fruit of my passions what must now
be my guiding light,
what must now be the best, the only good in me.
Yet doubts unified with the trepidations tower, 
and I shudder with the fear of their truths.

May your blade strike true in this bleak and frigid world.
May your torch burn bright in the darkness.
I pray you have her strength.
I pray you have her courage
and do not look within to that which I 
have undoubtedly sewn in you.

You will find no comfort, 
only a shade wherein there is
no hope, 
no love, 
no light, 
no warmth, 
no joy, 
no sun, 
no sky above.

I may only ask once in the frailness of your image
of a boon undeserved and yet needed in desperation.

Forgive me.