The skies are getting dark this is a coming storm.
The clouds are gathering, the thunder is blowing around.
The clouds are gathering.
This is a coming storm.
Look into the skies and see the anger of the gods.
Fear. Coming from the skies, we see the power of the gods.
Fear. Look into the skies and see the anger of the gods.
Fear. Look into the skies, coming from the skies,
Fear.
I hear, behind my back, there is a coming sound.
The noise is getting loud, I feel the cracking ground.
Running, burning, monstrous beast,
Hurry blindly to the cliff.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Trumpet aloud you little star,
Down to the ground you won't go far.
You're falling down
Bursting your burnt flesh all around.
You little star, your thunderstruck meat,
Spreading a new smell in the air.
Bring it back to the tribe.
All hail the hunting one.
Bring it back to the tribe.
All hail the hand that feeds.
Bring it back to the tribe.
All hail the baking god.
Bring it back to the tribe.
All hail the hunting one.
The Alberta crushers hold tight to their rank, astral-gazing grindcore, staring down abyssal torment all the while. Bandcamp Album of the Day Mar 31, 2020