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WITH DEAD HANDS RISING LYRICS
"Behind Inquisition" (2003)
1. Hell of the Upside-down Sinner
2. Capture the Plague
3. Tourniquet Girl
4. A Ghost for the Broken Hearted
5. The Razor that Kissed your Skin
6. Bleeding Away the Hours
7. Where Wings become Weapons [The Precursor]
8. Where Wings become Weapons [The Postmortem]
9. The Black
10. Behind Inquisition
11. Paralysis
1. Hell of the Upside-down Sinner
2. Capture the Plague
Die without restraint.
Lungs collapse form the tension.
Hearts plugged from potentially vile veins laced with inane.
Blood that coagulates inside us all.
Capture the plague.
Capture the fever.
Sit in your coffin and rot for the season.
Capture the plague.
Capture the fever.
now I have seen the extent of a life that remains a constant uphill battle with no chance of recovery.
And now you know what infection tastes like.
Cut through your ego like this knife left dull from all the times you have reveled in stupidity.
There is no pill to purify.
There is no way to build an antidote.
All I can see is your stupidity.
So I guess your out in the end.
The parasite flows through the veins.
Burning flowing through the veins.
Covered face to save civilization.
Form a lepers touch to hold his dignity.
And now you know what infection tastes like.
Cutting through your ego like this knife left dull from all the times you reveled in your stupidity.
3. Tourniquet Girl
Be still and dead.
You have been too sweet and so sedated.
You’ve kept those pins and needles for too damn long inside your organs.
I hope the worms can find you and smell your perfume before the day is done.
I visioned you with eyes of painted black and silver beauty.
Glistening.
Understanding that your never perfect.
We have put ourselves in your shoes without looking back at what you have done.
Without arms to touch the design of an angel gone horribly wrong.
Now you fall from the stars.
Leaving rays of the sunlight behind.
Now you fall from the throne.
Leaving traces of scars at the side.
No remorse to confide.
As the tourniquet slowly unwinds.
Amputate this lifeless figure.
Binded by the perfect stitches.
She was beside herself.
The urge to mend appendages has grown from a daytime hobby to a revelation.
To envision a skin of paper white catastrophes.
I pull her bandages and watch her fall to pieces.
I visioned you with eyes of painted black and silver beauty.
Glistening.
Understanding that your never perfect.
We put ourselves in your shoes without looking back at what you have done without arms to touch.
With no compassion inside you fall apart.
You fall from this waste of life.
You will fall from your own devastation.
With no compassion inside.
The mind and heart will whither.
To dust.
Resin.
Marrow.
I hope your happy this way.
4. A Ghost for the Broken Hearted
Time and time again I’ve tried to erase my own self loathing.
Less a mouth to speak a word of honesty.
Making me nauseous.
I have given you all I have to offer.
So please let me die inside this place I call my so-called catastrophe.
I cannot control the ghosts that destroy your every memory.
No matter how beautiful it may seem.
From the inside out I can see my own self-reflecting tragedy.
Time and time again I’ve tried to dissect my own self loathing.
Becoming more malicious with each passing hour.
Will it ever rest and stop damage to vital organs?.
I watch it eat through entrails like a ghost through walls.
I cannot control these ghosts that destroy your every memory.
No matter how cruel or beautiful it may be.
From the inside I can see my own self-reflecting tragedy.
With no hope to call my own.
5. The Razor that Kissed your Skin
You were the last one to bleed bone dry.
Cut as deep as conscious.
Writhing at the site of the wound.
Your only as human as one who sheds there skin.
No remorse for ones who decide to shed their skin.
As if you were the king of the living dead.
With no time for friendship.
With no time for sorrow.
And still your choking on isolation.
Thinking.
Choking of hope.
As time keeps passing.
You will rot here for a lifetime.
Thinking.
Choking of hope.
Where will you stand.
When all things come crashing in a sight that’s clouded by the essence of sleeping pills.
With each second.
I have laughed at your demise.
You pay the price.
A living demon with no time for palpitation.
Reminiscing on the skin you left on the bedroom floor.
You cannot be reborn to be alive.
The time has come to regain what was lost.
The time has come to give life to this shallow empty corpse.
Razors kiss your lips tonight.
The joke was on you this time. Laughing. Choking at you.
When your taking me for granted.
The time has come to remain lifeless.
No blood to the veins.
Painting his face with decay.
Without a moral restraint.
And still your choking on isolation.
Thinking choking of hope.
I will not die for your thoughts.
6. Bleeding Away the Hours
This is the last time I will write this lousy letter to me and myself.
I’m dying with devotion.
These thoughts reflect the most of wretched and decrepit times I know.
I will make it somehow.
With or without you to be blamed.
For innocence that cannot be reclaimed.
I will build a fortress.
Seal up my heart from the inside.
Where no one can try to put it back together piece by piece.
No time for comfort.
No more scapegoats or vexation.
With or without you to be the culprit for this tragedy.
I’ll count the hours until I spill my insides from the deepened wound.
This confession has meant nothing to the ones I know.
Nothing to the one’s who have promised. I am dying with devotion.
In the midst of my disaster.
I am dying with devotion in the midst of myself deprivation.
That which makes me stronger.
These veins run deep.
Brining me downward where angels reside.
With or without you to be blamed.
This confession has meant nothing to you.
That day I was more like.
An apparition with no place to hide.
Consuming every last shred of evidence.
As to where I left my bleeding heart.
With a lucid thought of arterial sympathy.
I am left to be silent.
I am left to become my own.
Bleeding away the hours.
7. Where Wings become Weapons [The Precursor]
8. Where Wings become Weapons [The Postmortem]
9. The Black
One more useless thought for the ones who prey on the fallen victims.
Lining streets with the flood of what remains from trials and tribulations.
Bringing out the dead to celebrate the hunt.
Serenity has hit an all-time low.
For years it gets worse.
The monster has sharpened its teeth once again.
No one to devour.
Calloused from catharsis skin.
Bound weight imperfections.
Too bad for your destiny is comprised of a constant decay.
This is a segue to false identity.
An unknown soldier exposed inside the grave.
A perseverance. without a host to blame.
They control. Close my eyes.
I am powerless.
Thrown into a shallow grave.
Heaven is a far cry from a shallow grave.
As the soil begins to settle.
Never again will I remain the same.
Burning down all the wretches inside me.
To erase. To exonerate. To provide a mold for what has broken.
A device for the lifeless.
A machine to accentuate the desire to live again.
A perusal for violence.
Cutting me from constraint.
Letting go of contempt.
And from this day on I will be there to see me live and die.
Cutting me from constraint. Letting go of contempt.
This is a segue to a false identity.
An unknown soldier exposed inside the grave.
They control. I close my eyes. Beneath the ground.
Love defies the wood and skin.
For years it gets worse.
No sympathy for the dead ands the heartbroken.
Beating. Pulsing.
All memories remain paralyzed.
10. Behind Inquisition
Manifesting filthy bastards.
Giving me my last intentions.
Extinguish the only fire burning form the bowels of disgust.
I am external.
Spreading like a virus through your windows.
Now you see me. Now you don’t.
you seem accustomed to the ones you have emotionally dissected before.
Covered in white.
A disguise for the nameless to keep us in silence.
Without a sign of hope.
I will carve out my heart to engage what we live for.
Your downfall. To engage what we live for.
Everyday I can only become what defies you.
In my wake of torment.
That queues lethargic to the tongue.
Disease encrypts its way into the states of your consciousness.
Tearing. Consuming everything that we hold close to sanity.
Remains of what once was a silence.
To overcome what defies us.
Devise a plan for lethargic designs of deception.
Life taking from life.
Is this the answer that feeds us technology down to the science.
Pray for decay.
With a design that resembles a modern day-face suicide.
Take no precautions.
When the storms hits you’ll feel the angst of an angels remorse.
Covered in earth. Soil and disgust.
Without a conscience to possess your own digital lifestyle.
Found you encased in this dead air.
Burned into the mind.
No more signals. No more saviors.
11. Paralysis
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