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Hallowed Grind III: Season of the Wound

by Bite Wound

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1.
As the moon took dominion In the otherwise blackened sky So began the night of terror Pretention reigns! His fedora adorns his head Like a woven crown of filth A carapace of second-hand garbage Praise Hipsturbia! On his tre-chic shaker of bones He scans the streets to expand his court Thrift-store squatters begging to be seen Shunning conformity by conforming They gather ‘round their savior Pants too tight to properly kneel Arms raised to show their loyalty Pit stains shining brightly De-lensed spectacles and ill-fitting garb Coalescing into a pompous beast No one is safe, for their strength is in numbers The one percent, with the power of 99 With one word from ‘neath the twisted ‘stache The hordes begin their ironic assault Destruction to build their empire Based on lethargy, a senseless war to prove they’re more than human garbage tonight The arcades are set on fire As fleet as foxes, a musk to match Running down cuties death cab The postal service turned to dust Flames drain the neutral milk hotel Whatever the fuck that means Better tell the MGMT There’s more to fear than vampires this weekend With prayers to St. Vincent, for an efficient attack But truly just a mess, reflective of their lives In the name of tuneless gods they honor Too self-absorbed to see it’s nothing but shit As the sun peaks, carnage illuminated The truth revealed, only their haunts assaulted So they retire to the darkest corners Their leader dons the garb of the Wall Street whore that he is by day
2.
The Walking Dead Beat Your lack of effort sure took you a long way Towards being useless, which you are every day Are your talents so profound that none are worthy? So proud to live off the naivety of strangers Happy to squander what they’ve so proudly earned Is luck the only thing you’ve ever mastered? Somehow convinced that you deserve charity So many victims adding to your spoils of war Freeloading since the day you took your first breath Your final will surely be stolen from another A master taker, no gift too large to accept But to give back would be the ultimate blasphemy Dead beat!! Now you’ve spawned a brood of proud failures Too oblivious to know that their lives are shit Carbon copies, carrying on your legacy Knowing only how to suckle from a swollen tit But now you wither, your body rotting all around you A killing habit the gift you’ve given yourself Revel in your ill-gotten gains For they’re your legacy, so soon to be forgotten Life as a king means so much less when you’re the jester A joke to everyone not blinded by your “charm” Or do you like to be reviled, feeling that it’s envy? Pride in the ruse of success you have created Dead beat!!
3.
The PriVILEdged A generation of self-important beggars Born to receive and happy to accept A taste for only that which they have never earned But proud to flaunt the shit they’ve managed to acquire Until that fateful day When handouts are revoked The giver turns the tide The easy life is taken A shell remains No longer can they function A rotting carcass Potential effort causing decay Arms extended, like zombies they wander Feeling the world should be placed in their hands Their lifeline stripped, and forced to fend No choice but to devour those they have lived off Attacking those who enabled Their flaunted lethargy Biting the hands that fed As well as the arms and heads But soon exhaustion sets in Hard work taking its toll The realization that they’re Working for their food They all begin to collapse, refusing to feed themselves With none to do their bidding, they have no reason to live As the bodies are dragged away, it’s as if they’re somehow smiling Being catered to one final time
4.
Peek-A-Boo! 03:01

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released October 28, 2014

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Bite Wound Los Angeles, California

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