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.
Off-kilter country songs with big, beating hearts, the music on “Sword Songs” captures hope and heartache in equal measure. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 7, 2017
Grab the pre-order to receive a limited-edition, satirical zine authored by Ray, who bares all in her Northern Spy debut. Bandcamp New & Notable May 14, 2015