Drop of blood falls on the yellowed by the damp tiles,
Deep underground, someone can’t sleep.
Keepers are leading by the hands
A pale shadow of the lost sheep.
Skinner’s box takes him into its power,
It will swallow his mind and will.
It will train servile reflex.
Is it God's purpose or intent reverse side?
Why? Of suffering more and more.
The pain and anguishing of a man. What for?
Here everything is sold,
Нere’re only fear and cold.
Excitation of the beast grows.
Drop him into the water, exile the devil away!
Holy God!
He will emerge or disappear forever in hell.
So be it!
He swam up and ran for torturers,
Striving for revenge and blood,
Wishing of death!
Madhouse is constrained by a dream,
Night sounds and noises keep
The magic of space and anxiety,
Evil is surging in liberty.
Behind the gates of the manor of fools
Slice of life. And only the moon
Lights up the streets and the bridges,
And dreams of how to get blind.
Why? Of suffering more and more.
The pain and anguishing of a man. What for?
Here everything is sold,
Нere’re only fear and cold.
Excitation of the beast grows.
On the table enmeshed by cables,
Tied up victim is ready to suffer
The discharge current.
Breathing is interrupted by wheezing
And coughing, spit of the dark red saliva.
The end is nigh.
The smell of burning is a sigh of doom,
Oh, that feeling of fried flesh!
The eyes of a murderer as white as his robe,
Hunger of beast is growing in them.
Unimaginable scream
Shook’s the madhouse, it became quiet.
Maybe in the morning this will over,
Meantime, only the moon
Was Looking sadly at this world.
A ferocious display of blackened stoner-doom from Moscow's Moanhand, who offsets moments of bleak ugliness with clean, haunting melody. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 23, 2021
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