War Is the Force That Gives Us Meaning: A Two Part Analysis of Personal and Inter‐Personal Conflict
Thou
Album • 2011
11 Tracks
Thou
Album • 2011
From Cower's EP "Hatred Songs", 2008 One more second fucking wasted, put this bullet in my brain. One more second, one more minute, one more hour - I'm a wreck. If one more second goes uncounted, put this rope around my neck. Bury myself into the bottle. Cough up glass for a week. Searching for strength in a liquid that takes the death grip on me.
Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Nov 09, 2025
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
One more second fucking wasted, put this bullet in my brain. One more second, one more minute, one more hour - I'm a wreck. If one more second goes uncounted, put this rope around my neck. Bury myself into the bottle. Cough up glass for a week. Searching for strength in a liquid that takes the death grip on me.
Submitted by SerpentEve — Nov 09, 2025
Fiery spires raised to pierce the veil of hermetic, nourishing night. Concrete standards to proclaim the tyranny of industry's might. The heralds that announce the imminence of cancerous disease, unending plague. Nauseous. The bodies piled high. Maggots rule and birth swarms of flies. The black cloud descends. And gold is all. And we welcome thee with open arms, with blinded eyes. Hail, our corporate overlords. Hail, self destructive greed. Hail, our burial grounds.
Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 26, 2025
Strangled in a vice grip. Lash out. This is the place where sadness breeds, the desolation in everyone. This is a wasteland full of nameless, faceless, soulless mounds of flesh, mewling, writhing in and out of existence. Long for communion. Nothing. The wailing moans, the gnashing of teeth. The deafening, endless, complete isolation. Long for an end, a day of reckoning. Into my bones, let it descend. The holy stones lay scattered at the head of every street. Urban scars wiped clean.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 26, 2025
Chattering, nagging, Black Speech, incessant, irrelevant, irrational. Pettiness always on your tongue. Your fetid breath crawling down the back of my neck. Your cold, dead hands clutching, crushing my soul. My needs, my desires cats paw to your whims. And when you've finally, painfully excised every last ounce of my patience, all the doors will be opened, and I will be resolved - I will be absolved - to leave the curse behind.
Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 26, 2025
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