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Death Of The Author

from Apotheosis by Sobriquet

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lyrics

We drag these leaden soles back to Salem
Raise our spear to the demon's throat
Sheathe our blades in the breast of Adam
Wash his ribs in the dirt

Silk and silver
Gold and lace
It binds our spirit
Tied in place
And with these tawdry trinkets strut these peacock pageant draperies
Our hands of brass will raise a mirror up against the emptiness we veil and turn to stone

We drag these leaden soles back to Salem
Raise our spear to the demon's throat
Sheathe our blades in the breast of Adam
Wash his ribs in the dirt

Do not adornments make a man?
Is ‘woman’ but an act upon a stage?
Conform to fit another’s plan
And let the creature starve inside the cage?

The wellspring pulses thus we sip the stagnant water from the source
The holy grail cuts our lips upon the rim and yet we drink our fill
(FRUIT WILL ROT) on Eden’s ripest branches
(LET IT DROP) And feed the maggots
As a milky sweet glaucoma clouds the iris turn to face the basilisk and turn to stone

We drag these leaden soles back to Salem
Raise our spear to the demon's throat
Sheathe our blades in the breast of Adam
Wash his ribs in the dirt

Fruit will rot upon the holiest of branches
Unless we cut it off

The author is dead

credits

from Apotheosis, released February 9, 2022
Written by Sobriquet.
Recorded and Mixed by Lewis Johns at The Ranch Production House, Southampton.
Mastered by Grant Berry at Fader Mastering.

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Sobriquet Sheffield, UK

Sheffield Post-Hardcore.

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