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Alms & Avarice

by Blacksoul Seraphim

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1.
Herein lies the crown Jagged to the touch –brimstone forged Vaulted within the illusions Clergy of kings, vermillion and engorged. These are the times Of the peasants’ pestilence Resilient and the pious Praying to be cleansed Herein they crowned the lies Gilded swords cross the throats of the sick and the blind Halberds arch the path Devils scrutinize as the millstone grinds. Tyranny is the pox This citadel, sick with material bliss Spines will shatter upon the rocks This earthly divide: Alms and Avarice. In this great city, charity is the leash upon the destitute, ensuring their survival and containment. Salvation, a commodity, is bought and sold in writs of parchment. The benevolent prophecies most palatable by forked tongues have been engraved into man’s law, and liars and lechers enjoy sanctified immunity in the name of an aberrant crown. Alms are given to quell the rage of hunger, and Avarice has built this earthly layer of the underworld to pay homage to an unseen malefactor.
2.
Gateways span the diocese Where the patriarchs nest Under the veils of rosaries And the aegis of the blessed Where the exarchs patrol Consuls of contracts and vice In search of weary souls Desperate to pay their price. These are the things called forth by the rectors To make feasts of the meek Sowing debt as seeds to an orchard For the corruption they bespeak. Such opulent shadows Give pause to the valorous Their silence is the wish of the blackguard Benighted, admonished to trust. The caitiffs will settle for servitude The sick will give of their flesh Desponding minds are prospective possessions For malefactors to divest. Talons grip the treasures and troves Sharp tongues harvest the hatred of the poor The clout of despots and demagogues lives on Through the power of this conspiracy, forevermore.
3.
Poverty’s chosen have no place They hide their own faces beneath the waste and leave no trace. Friends of the flies Trembling pariahs and husks sentenced to be forever scorned and chastised Madness…or so they say No asylum can be found in this place. The vows of the Crown can only betray; Delirium and disgrace. Beggars they fear, and beggars they breed Through the misled years and forgotten tears they all will bleed Such is the doctrine Through the mad eyes of beggars, see abyssal serpents slithering within. Oh, see them turn their heads Couldn’t spare two coins for eyes of the dead No stones to be thrown from a sack of gems Lest they succumb to the madness and become like them.
4.
These towers serve to mark the lower mass graves Each pillar of stone, a nail through the necks of slaves Beneath the shadows of the Crown; in the streets they lay Sewer-bound, unified by virtues and decay. The rats reap the bitter fruits of the wasteful lords How great the mercy of the famished hordes Larvae of parasites teem beneath the throne Monarchs may one day choke upon their bones A vermin congregation – a beggar’s battalion Pariah population – the corpse of a stallion Sermons sung to decimate the cancer of greed Shepherds come to infest the estates…to let the starving souls feed. Thus would the vilest of men don the gilded flesh of devils and appoint themselves among the righteous. And with pernicious prudence, craft the inversion – the illusion of virtue that would be the plinth under which the vermin are crushed, living in filth as crippled worms coiled about the oppressive monolith. Starve as they will, the keepers offer mere scraps to the imprisoned rabble. But look past the stone despot’s glory, for you my yet see the jaws of the Jagged Crown. Move swiftly and united with the blessed swarm, lest you hang helplessly as a solitary morsel in the fingers of a gluttonous lower god.
5.
(Instrumental)
6.
A populace torn into factions, all fractured, broken and hewn Numb and unaware of the infected, festering wounds Maggots line the lips that spit those aspersions Archdevils devise and conquer with oligarchic coercions. The Jagged King presides over this chessboard To the prosperous priests, he is lord. They must create this contagion for you For the dark accolades they are due. Defiled corpses of commoners compose the tattered trail Dark peddlers strive to sell the will to prevail. A coin for each contract, and a stitch for each soul Threaded to a grin for the madmen to behold. Lies will soothe and feed this disease Who could stand against a legion that dwells upon its knees? Flagellants lay sores upon the backs Leeches feast upon the cracks A plague of hatred and vehement pawns They fight, while devils steal the dawn. No greater affliction hath been wrought than the plague of pawns. The most devoted slaves are possessed of euphoric zealotry to their own inner darkness, for that would aspire to achieve the comforts of uncompromising deviltry. They are the pawns walking amongst their fellow paupers, praising kings and killers alike for their triumphs, even as they break beneath the scaled hooves at which they worship. Shackled to the chessboard, these pawns ensure an army for the wicked, to clash against itself in perpetual injustice. To the pawn, even blood is fit to be retained within coffers, and victims are their own, sole destroyers.
7.
Anointed by a vermillion rain I rip the veil, shifting planes Baptized at last in this polluted storm And the promised Hell finally takes form Plunge this place into the pit of everlasting pain Let them see all that awaits For the judgment of the slain. I bear the sacred flames of truth From their souls, all distortion I will purge. With ardor and sword, I cleave despotic flesh Unmask the tyrants and sing the devils’ dirge. Gaze now upon the forms of your foes Do you deny them of their control? All comforts they have bestowed? [Or] do you remain a slave to your woes? This place is for the fallen, and so it falls to thee It was my judgment that you allow your eyes to see Now, the choice is yours and I have sacrificed my wings May you find release from the reign of the Jagged King.
8.
(Instrumental)
9.
As fevers rise with the snowfall And wrath swells within us all Celestial wingspans banish the darkness of doubt. There is nothing left here to praise No hope to be found from the magistrates We set hearts ablaze to warm the hands of the devout. Processions carve through the finest armor An armistice dirge is sung A ragged man march through the city streets, in tattered shoes and blackened lungs. No more must they trade in contagion No more must children subsist on waste Disgorged are the coins that the fiends forced them to taste. Gluttons are the demons’ thralls They host the vilest spirits’ spawn By empyrean flames, let them perish by the dawn. The power that once was held By monarchs, cowards, and thieves Cannot stand against the righteous might of the many that still believe. Your lies can never heal the wounded ones Daggers through the eyes – an accursed face No heroes can there be under gilded chains In the jagged crown’s embrace See the fires of insurrection ignite new joy This elysian doom The Heavens echo the funeral rites As we lay to rest our gloom.
10.
You working men of England one moment now attend While I unfold the treatment of the poor upon this land For nowadays the factory lords have brought the labour low And daily are contriving plans to prove our overthrow So arouse! You sons of freedom! The world seems upside down They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town There's different parts in Ireland, it's true what I do state There's hundreds that are starving for they can't get food to eat And if they go unto the rich to ask them for relief They bang their door all in their face as if they were a thief So arouse! You sons of freedom! The world seems upside down They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town Alas how altered are the times, rich men despise the poor And pay them off without remorse, quite scornful at their door And if a man is out of work his Parish pay is small Enough to starve himself and wife, his children and all So arouse! You sons of freedom! The world seems upside down They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town So to conclude and finish these few verses I have made I hope to see before it's long men for their labour paid Then we'll rejoice with heart and voice and banish all our woes Before we do old England must pay us what she owes So arouse! You sons of freedom! The world seems upside down They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town

credits

released August 25, 2012

Recorded at Black Coffee Sound by Clay Neely in the Spring and Summer of 2012.

All songs and lyrics written by Joshua Carrig (Morte McAdaver).

All guitars written and performed by Joshua Carrig.

All bass organs performed by Joshua Carrig. Bass guitar on Dust Merchant also performed by Joshua Carrig.

Plague of Pawns guest vocals and lead guitar solos by Matt Smith of Faces of Bayon.

Keyboards written and performed by Thomas Cyranowski, except for Madness of Beggars, Revelations of the Fallen, and Plague of Pawns, written and performed by Joshua Carrig.

Drums performed by Clay Neely of Black Pyramid and Black Coffee Sound.

"Song on the Times" was originally an English rebel song written between the years of 1845 and 1850, author unknown. The melody used in the cover was taken from Chumbawamba's version of the song from "English Rebel Songs 1381-1914." Credit goes to the original author of the lyrics (whomever that may have been), and to Chumbawamba for the melody. Cover arrangement by Joshua Carrig.

Special Thanks:

Joshua Carrig (Morte McAdaver): I would like to thank Thomas Cyranowski for being such a great musical companion over the years. Thank you to Clay Neely for producing this album, and for the excellent drum work (and for putting up with me). I am most grateful to all that listen to and enjoy this music; I hope it inspires you in some way.

Thomas Cyranowski: I am thankful to have the chance to work again and again with a stellar group of musicians, and would like to personally thank those who have supported me and have had faith in my efforts.

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Blacksoul Seraphim Worcester, Massachusetts

Blacksoul Seraphim was created to convey the suffering, pity, and sorrow that a fallen celestial being would feel being bound to dwell in our frail, corrupted mortal society.

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