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Occulters Of The Psylent Wayyy

from It Weighed Itself In Silver by Exlimitir

/

lyrics

Upon the castle coils the serpent, the palatial garland.
A cozening festoon hanging from above, a noose for the ill-born dove.
Palace spires spinning, inverted towers drilling,
To bury itself beneath.

Achieve velleity in darkened soil.
Wrapped by the roots of the rotting pines of Omnibrhaemia,
They left behind the forbidden language, always whispered under tongue.
(But who will help those who scream without a sound?)

This is the Psylent Wayyy, an opaque silence!

New truths well-hidden from the sleepers of the rotting pines,
and the dreamers of the pit.
Whispers by the lurkers behind dark stars.

An unknown truth: they rest for now, only to become the trees they once feared.
Clawing at the sky, with their timbered hands, screaming for escape,
As they are now welded to the weald, A copse of corpses.

They weep without an eye, pain without a nerve, and grimace without a face.

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from It Weighed Itself In Silver, released February 10, 2018

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