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SUICIDE CULTURE LYRICS
"Hallowed Be Thy Agony" (1999 EP)
1. Swarming The Flies
2. God Forbid
3. Make Believe
4. Jewel Throne (Celtic Frost cover)
5. Bury The Hatchet
1. Swarming The Flies
Swarming the flies,
He who lies dead in the way,
And thus was trudging the path to eventual murder.
Open the mind,
Allow the maggots to play,
That they be human one day,
And lay their eggs in the dead.
Remember all your rapists,
When you make your Christmas list
Remember all the beatings
It took to make you happy,
Be sure to wish them all well,
When they are burning in hell,
Turn other cheek with a gun
And kill them every single one
Throw away past lives
Drones unto the hives
If you look real slow
You can watch the gravestones grow
2. God Forbid
Blessed beloved victim,
Lie down and take it just like a man
Strange how they don’t remember,
Not for the very life of them
Self-help inflicted murder,
Fall down with rusty knives in the back
Enrage the deadly fires,
Gratefully hateful prayers
Hallowed be thy agony,
Crying like dying pigs in the pain
Cry me a sea of reasons,
The angels die as demons
Body is a life in prison,
Solitary bury children
Do you think you’d really be missed?
If your dead could only exist?
God Forbid
They instill will to kill
Make you real
Body is a life in prison,
Solitary bury children,
When you finally meet your maker,
Be sure to tell him I sent you there
3. Make Believe
Shallow the bloody rivers,
In which the children lie.
Alone, alive afraid
Afraid to die
Blacken the sky,
And this world make me die
Lift the Demon’s wings in flight,
By dead of night
Stick and the stone will make a home,
And Striketh down the crying whore.
When all fall dead, all’s forgiven
Make believe in,
Satan the mannequin animate,
Couldn’t even begin to comprehend,
Lest I believe and then condemn,
Make believe him.
Dig them six feet deep and in a row.
One for you and everyone you’ll ever know,
And all of the love you’ll shovel still,
Will never be able to fill.
The one you see clutching the rose,
Does shed no blood upon it’s thorns.
Still blood flows in more ways than you know,
Than you could ever know.
Stick and the stone have broken bones.
All of the damage has been done.
All children laugh and curse and sing,
Make believing,
That bloody Sunday one day come.
All fallen dead all forgiven
Sky burn black that we may be,
Make believe me.
4. Jewel Throne (Celtic Frost cover)
Once prayed to my gods, searching for the whistled memories
Empty eyes are staring now, to my feet a land of sorrow
I'm the king, sitting in the dark hiding from the shadows of the wind
Wafts of might, wine of fire, I was called to taste
Silver horses brought us here, to the edge of the universe
We left the falling walls as the stars' collapse began
Now I rest on the highest steps, revealed the eternal frontier
As I gaze from the Jewel Throne to the portal of infinity
Fallen have the "chosen ones", debris remain in the dust
Far behind, beyond the sands, the wind sings to those who fell
Forever now, my hands laid down the poisoned weapons
I will pray to my gods, searching for the mysteries
5. Bury The Hatchet
Twilight of starless night,
The moon begins to sink,
Into the boundless depths
Of murder-laden dreams
Tried to convince myself,
That it was nothing more,
Than living fear, now just begun
To rear it’s ugly head.
The wolves they drool,
And who are you to unoblige them.
Speaking in howls and growls
Of pain you can’t imagine.
Piss your entire life,
On what you could’ve been.
Regurgitate to fill the whole,
In what you call a soul.
Would demons come if I begged them?
Even eventually befriend?
Then I suppose they’d have to go.
All good things must come to an end.
Don’t think I could ever sink the knife,
As far or deep as you could.
You always knew just where to stab,
Those holes that flow so numbingly slow.
Grotesque disfigured diseases I have wrought.
Not quite as dark and brooding
AsI’d always thought.
Seemed to embrace the hell,
Extend a welcome hand,
That stabs the face,
That makes the world
A much better place to live.
Bury the hatchet once, two times, and thrice.
Hatred, murder, and everything nice.
In the pyres of the choirs of children sing,
Kill you, Kill me, sever everything
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