1. |
Beast Unburdened
03:06
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|::Lyrics::|
Let the fires of a shattered sun condense the twilight
and unfold the threshold to the hereafter.
Let the Beasts of unknown angles
light the sky aflame
and emblazon my sight with heretical heritage;
write upon my heart that sacred symbology,
that ancient language of Nephilim angels,
those words and names only a Man can pronounce.
In trapezoidal dreams and living visions,
I’ve extended my perceptions
past the fractal fragments of the mind’s mirror
and through shadowed glass forests I emerged
with my solemn companions –
The Hounds of the Barrier.
Their voices are the echoed dreams of my dead fathers
and the unwritten wishes of my children’s future.
Their eyes are oceans of my ancestor’s reflections,
the illustrations of a million madmen;
the paintings of the unmapped infinite.
Rendered uncolored with pigments of the past,
their gazes are not only piercing,
but prolific ancient Halls of Intention
where stony talismantic gates covered in carvings of inhuman faces
await the progenitors of prophecy.
Blessed by the presence of my companions,
I dilate and die,
sacrificing my mind’s eye
and every word of my life’s work,
so that I may absorb the sun-lit skies into my own eyes
commanding the keys of the-is-to-be
to open the doors of my destiny.
And from this mist,
a formless chorus comes forth to sing songs to me,
written in psalms sung in infinite octaves and silent keys.
From these noteless verses, stories of me –
of my history as a god –
written with the black inks of eternity
from this grotto of the Beyond.
And finally, I hear whispers of the Great Law:
A first gift presented by Set
to the moonlit descendents of an endless desert.
And then my transcendence is triggered,
a cosmic weapon fired
from the tops of pyramids.
and I am the chosen One –
I am all winged beings stepping through space freely,
the flares spotted on the sun.
I am all the Annunaki;
I am life sentences, sourced by divinity
15 billion years in the making.
I am the Beast of Eden
eating Adam’s apple,
I am the vengeance of Lilith
and the fruits of an endangered people.
I am the name of Legion
flowing downward like demons.
I am the essence of Styx Rivers
and the cry of angels once defeated.
I am every vision of Ragnarok.
I am the footprints of giants
and all the Watchers
watching from every mountaintop.
I am the dawn on the day of the last Winter Solstice;
I am the Morning of Magic on December 22nd…
I am the first moment after the galactic clock
stopped.
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2. |
Summertime Diamonds
04:13
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|::Lyrics::|
She chooses her words like she chooses her death:
Always in little pieces.
I used to be the black star anti-hero,
the rebel without applause;
the black-clad Son of Sam
night-stalking his dreams.
I was once a proud disciple of the “other” category.
But I’ve become a 401K-paid slave,
A 24 karat puppet
who dances on command
and throws going away parties for himself
at various cubicle concentration camps.
I’d get into gear,
but my aspirations are in the backseat
toking it up with my day dreams
and hot-boxing my perceptions.
But something must be happening to my gag reflex,
because I’m hanging from a fluorescent noose,
yet my tongue dangles
loosening my bonds,
trying to convince my fist to resurrect as my lord and savior
and crush the dopplegangers that live on my shoulders
because they’ve been trying to bullshit my consciousness
and trick my brain into remaining comatose.
But St. Lazarus arises from the death tube
glowing,
adorned in Hi-definition white robes
and a cathode ray halo encircling his head.
“You are the walking dead,”
he says,
then ushers me toward the garden,
a mass of needle-thin metal grass blades
and twisted crystal daisies.
It’s beauty blinds me
so I begin to bow in prayer,
but I’m interrupted by my own corpse
hanging from the Tree of Wisdom—
a mass of twisted fiber optic cables
and broken monitors.
He appears as an angelic zombie
eating apples made of glass
and playing with his plastic ribs
hoping to resurrect himself.
But before I could help him down,
Eve’s face flickers on a nearby screen
and she screams,
begging me to be released.
So without a thinking twice,
I set my other self aflame
while growing xenon wings
and setting flight,
dragging the All-Mother up with me to the sky.
and there we find Lucy,
a crystal whore-mistress
dancing on the glass ceiling.
She holds a jagged diamond
to my heart beat,
she tells me that fucking her
will unlock my divinity;
and I’m wearing protection,
but she’s already infected my reality.
And I’m wearing protection,
but she’s already infected my reality.
And I’m falling,
waking up again
in the same bed I died in yesterday.
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Shea Bilé Los Angeles, California
Shea Bilé is a performance poet, author, musician, occult lecturer, and podcast host. His music draws from various forms of
subversive spiritual expression that serve as a vital foundation for his work, which represents a fusion of aggressive punk-poetics and unrepentant occulture.
His most recent album, “Tzimtzum”, pairs occult-driven spoken word lyricism with neoclassical instrumentation.
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