1. |
Over Blasted Fields
00:47
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2. |
With A Visceral Hand
01:44
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Swords gnashing pour,
Carcass-wine and lard,
Upon the land,
To feed the thralls,
Of the Master,
With a visceral hand,
The brumal rope,
Brings the hedge-march,
Under His command,
Skirmish dances,
And battle throes,
Tartan the leaves,
Apples blessing-swole,
Burst upon the dead,
And annoint marching greaves,
And even the spineless,
Slaves of rot,
Harken His grip,
Enthralled to pepsis,
Midst rivers of bile,
Absent the whip,
Glad to consume,
And cleanse the way,
Swallowing every drip,
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3. |
Straw
02:06
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Bound,
In burlap,
In twine,
Straw,
Sinew-braiding,
Wooden bones,
Wicked frame,
Straw,
Wrapped in,
Countless reaped,
To liberate,
Straw,
Limitations,
Muscle golden,
Spears of Autumn,
Straw,
Sickle high,
Scythe higher,
Harpe highest,
Straw,
In the hands,
Rotting strong,
Hacking too,
Straw,
Harvested,
Harvesting,
With gifted iron,
Straw,
Crows called,
Formely warded,
To the field,
Straw,
To the soil,
A town,
To the soil,
A kingdom,
To the soil,
An empire,
Connlach!
Connlach!
Connlach!
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4. |
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Gilded and fallow hair wind-woven over the hill-scalp marks the way-wend of the last harvestman to the Bog of the Fallen, the cambered iron that burns in his hands must be quenched, The Sickle Of Nightswell Is Born
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5. |
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Gnarl of the sallow crop wake,
Spirals and be-circles the iron pillar,
Haze of His incense's reek miasming,
A dream from the Hill Spike,
Sings in the fume choked air,
Nightmare for the paltry summer-clung,
Beware!
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6. |
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Throne of reaking thorns baptised in salt-less tears,
A mournful rain burdens the greenless hall,
Self-carved and bright with a tallow-held flame,
On shoulders of storm-rent branches and braided straw,
The grin that twists to the rhythm of putryphaxion,
Mocking the false eternities erected afore the harvest,
The Pumpkin Of Woe Laughs Last of All
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7. |
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Sloe-sweetening talons,
Rending with frightening pervasion,
Blood of the year concentrated,
'Midst the blades of the hedge,
Flesh plump with pastures' lesions,
Pounded with the bones of the eviscerated,
In the frost-wine cellar,
And in spite of dispersion,
A thousand cups is but one venerated,
A Graal at the end of the Graal,
A wail in the echo of a wail,
Victory atop a mound of tragedies,
A Graal at the end of the Graal,
A nail in the husk of a nail,
Piercing through every year,
A Graal at the end of the Graal,
A trail beknotted in a trail,
The End ever flowing from the End.
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Graal Nova Scotia
Graal was founded in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia in early 2020 with the intent of manifesting the Saturnalian current in all its absurd glory through the occult medium of black metal.
Graal recommends:
Ritual Cairn's unique vision of blackened death-doom is eerie, malicious and even mournfully triumphant. There is a sincerity here that is rare in the subgenre. This is a project to watch.
go to album
Nocturnal Wanderer - Gift of the Night
by Nocturnal Wanderer
Dire. Triumphant. Mystical. Haunting. Perfect headphone music for late-night strolls under the moon and the stars.
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