1. |
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2. |
Choir Beyond Coin
03:28
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Dear friends and loved ones who have carried me all this way,
I thank you all for granting audience today.
We are not long for this false world of death and greed --
The choir calls us; won't you come away with me
To a place beyond the wreckage of the coin?
It is not far, and it grows closer by the hour.
The cards read clearly now -- the crumbling of the Tower.
The air is potent! The earth trembles 'neath our feet!
The choir calls us all in better days to meet:
In a place beyond the wreckage of the coin!
Deaf friends and loved ones who have carried me all this way,
I thank you all for granting audience today.
We are not long for this false world of death and greed.
The choir calls us; won't you come away with me?
In voices so familiar, past the veil of sorrow --
The songs of future selves resounding from tomorrow.
We know the score now; we are set for victory!
The choir calls us; won't you come away with me
To a place beyond the wreckage of the coin?
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3. |
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4. |
Blue Line Skull
02:52
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America is a death cult.
Its legacy is one of blood spilled by the river,
Its epochs noted by font.
Its god demands submission and suffering
In the name of an anarchist prophet
Drowned in bleach, hung as a warning;
Upon recuperated messiahs,
The death god feeds.
It would make priests of its killers,
Crosses of rifles,
Sinners of victims,
Confessionals under duress,
Supression as sanctification;
Broken bread, spilled red wine,
In blue, in green, at home abroad,
The death god feeds.
The nearer to death, the nearer to god.
The hungry, the unhoused, the sickly,
All rendered sin eater, bearers of the damnation
Set for the ruling class; even now,
In times of plague, we find ourselves
All rendered lambs to slaughter.
Well and truly, on us each,
The death god feeds.
America the reaper.
America the skull.
Count the bodies as the flags unfurl.
Hear the cheers rise up from the gallows.
The sinner god rendered sacred
By the blood of the crucified and the hanged.
Another day, another life, another dollar.
Yet still I beg you to understand:
We are the many, they are the few,
and ours are the hands set to wrap 'round their throats.
We march together for a day of reckoning,
And in their hour, even gods will die.
So I pray.
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5. |
Humbling Hole
01:57
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With minds unset like broken bones,
We shamble forth, unfeeling drones,
And each in low sedated groans,
Sink down into a humbling hole.
It's pink and blue for girls and boys,
From wall to wall, clothes, hair, and toys.
Now play your part, don't make such noise --
Or fall into a humbling hole.
Now knives in backs and anguished screams
Spring from our broken self esteem.
Our cloth is fraying at the seams
Down in this fucking humbling hole.
Yet love and solidarity
May counter our anxiety;
And hand in hand, together we
Will rise up from this humbling hole.
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Thou Pale Empress Tacoma, Washington
Yet another weirdo anarchist trans folk punk act from the PNW. But this one has harmonium all over the place, so that's pretty neat, right?
Thou Pale Empress recommends:
Mounted is our noisier, more industrial project, for ppl who want their music "amplified" and "even more abrasive".
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Grab the pre-order to receive a limited-edition, satirical zine authored by Ray, who bares all in her Northern Spy debut.
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featured on Bandcamp Radio Sep 1, 2023
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