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A Folk Artist

from Gathered Blood by Sons of Perdition

/

lyrics

A steamer chest in an attic, orphaned among celestial motes that spin and accrete and rise and fall; pregnant with their secrets. A body, dark as wine, exposed muscle like cables. Tendons stretched and cracked. Bathed in old motor oil. Naïve taxidermy. Skin folded neatly in wax paper, less supple now. Yellowed like the old newspaper that cradles a lost name and whispers a tale of a life. A jar of teeth and fingers, miles away, planted like an obscene seed that should grow into a lynching tree and bear horrid fruit. Gestating in the soil as all things do.

credits

from Gathered Blood, released September 16, 2016

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all rights reserved

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Sons of Perdition Glasgow, UK

Sons of Perdition make weird, dark music. Their seventh release, Heathen Hof, is available May 1, 2022.

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