Psalms for the Spiritually Dead - Remastered

by Sons of Perdition

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about

To celebrate its 1500th day of blotting out hope and strangling happiness in its crib, we've remastered Sons of Perdition's 2010 slab of monolithic gloom, "Psalms for the Spiritually Dead". The second haunted album in our Dissolution Trilogy, it's filled with decay, loss, and prayers for oblivion.

Listen and lament but never repent.

credits

released December 9, 2014

Everything by Zebulon Whatley, except:
Lonesome Wyatt: Vocals on "Psalm of Nod"
Dad Horse Ottn: Backing Vocals and Banjo on "Psalm of Nod"
Dan 138: Half of the Music and Backing Vocals on "Psalm 138"
Christoph Mueller: Artwork on Front and Back Cover

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about

Sons of Perdition Austin, Texas

Sons of Perdition are Zebulon Whatley, Simon Broke, Lacy Rose, and Alex Hardie. They play gloomy songs. The band is spread out across the world but centered in Austin, Texas.

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Track Name: Psalm of Withering
See that girl weeping silent in her cold empty home? Watch her pretty flesh wither and drop from the bone. Now smell the tears of that boy as they paint his poor face. His heart stumbles and it falters with complete lack of grace. Hear the man cursing softly as he dies in his bed, in the clutches of the cancer that blooms in his head. And feel the soul of that lady get sucked through the gates, though her body treads onward down a path that she hates. Now taste the blood on the teeth of the only one you love. Well the preacher on Sunday like the farmer on Monday and the shepherd out some other day, know they ain't exempt. So don't waste time with your tears because it's worse than you fear, you gotta get right outta town before your own day gets here. Now sow those seeds in that ground that grows so fallow and cold. You know they'll never be found. I say they'll only grow mold, 'cause there ain't gonna be no big harvest this year. I tell you, time to settle debts, it is drawing so near.
Track Name: Psalm of Sand Creek
Smoke from broken camps, smoke from broken contracts, borne out on November winds. A flock of seven hundred sheep, led by one who cruelly preached. A man who coldly traded blood for blood. At the bend of old Sand Creek, the men out hunting to the east. The women and their children fast asleep. Who is to blame for this most shameful thing? Chivington's soldiers take aim. They mowed them down with rifle fire. They ran them through with sabers. They pulled the babes from where they hid and snuffed their lives with hatred. Though they huddled 'neath the flag, there was no shelter to be had. The ground was clotted thick with blood and scalps. Who takes the blame for this tragic scene? May Chivington be smothered in flames. Nothing lives too long; only earth and mountains.
Track Name: Psalm of Nod
Wade in the water, children. God is gonna trouble that water. The sea is blood, the moon is bone. I walk this highway all alone. No coat, no food, no automobile. Jesus alone knows how I feel. See that town all bathed in dust? Nobody in this world I trust. Holes worn through my Sunday shoes. I got them low-down Judas blues. The air is hot, the waters cold, what lurks beneath is ages old. See that man who holds the key? He that chained that Beast now sets it free. The pews are empty, folks moved on. Despair has gripped me by the bones. I lay down on those tracks to die. That train, it's a-coming by and by. God is gonna trouble that water.
Track Name: Psalm of Retribution
A secret space and moldy bones, a wall where one shouldn't be. There's a cricket hiding in my cellar, calling up to me. A tarp and a trowel and a broken lamp, the stench of eternity. There's a dozen crickets in my cellar, calling up to me. A shifting of bones and a rustle of cloth, the chatter of lime-crusted teeth. There's a hundred crickets in my cellar, calling up to me. Pray to your Maker, absolve thee of sin. And pray to ancestors, to all your dead kin. Pray to your mother and pray to your father and pray to your uncle and sister and brother. Aim your prayers skyward to Heaven on high and cast those prayers into that cold lake of fire. And then you'll discover with your final breath, your prayers were all futile, unheeded by Death. A scratching and scraping of fumbling claws from the shores of Erebus' sea. There's a thousand crickets in my cellar, calling up to me. The thud of decay-withered limbs on the floor, a ragged croak summoning me. I'm going down now to the cellar, say a prayer for me.
Track Name: Psalm of Solitude
I took my rifle from down off its shelf (I'm not myself but I'm nobody else) and took to the woods to be by myself (I'm not myself but I'm nobody else). That moon is a Eucharist, stale and unleaven. Those stars all are maggots in the cold flesh of Heaven. And though they grow fatted on the blood of it all, they're destined to sicken and wither and fall. So I took that rifle from down off its shelf and took to the woods to be by myself.
Track Name: Psalm of Hell
The voices of the dead, recorded in smoke.
Track Name: Psalm of Woe
O LORD, woe LORD, O LORD.... Make thick my blood that I won't feel the exaltation of Thy will. Blind my eyes that I can't see Thy vengeance coming down through me. Make still my heart that I might lie and see not those You chose to die. Smother these embers of a soul grown cold and blot my name out from Thy tome. Then bind my soul that it will stay and with this body soon decay. LORD let me die, LORD let me rot, LORD give me not another thought.
Track Name: Psalm of Eulogy
He committed to his journal, things so bleak but true, that we commit now to the fire. O the LORD has taken you! Angels claim thee, Christoph, and bear thee from this earth. May it suffer from thy absence as it suffered from thy birth. How we rue the day You took him. We rend our clothes and cry. We gnash our rotten teeth, O LORD, and hurl curses to the sky. Angels claim thee, Christoph, and take thy soul on high. May you fill Saint Peter's tome with haunted visions from thy mind. We lay thy body gently under weeping cypress tree. And as the insects took dominion, LORD, we sang our psalm of thee. Angels claim thee, Christoph! Set thee in the hand of God. May the ashes of thy journal, like your body, reek and rot.
Track Name: Psalm of Warmth
A sickly albino found a bleary old wino stumbling his way through the dump. So he called to his gang, who answered with chains, to give the old drunkard his lumps. He fell to his knees and begged "Spare me boys please, for once I was young just like thee. From duty I'd run for a fair bit of fun. You children remind me of me". "O you're not our brother," said one then the other of those moon-faced and misshapen boys. So they tied him to a tree and they clubbed both his knees and his sobs made a sad, weary noise, like "Ohhhhh...". He sang "Ohhhhh...". Then down in that glade, they took their cruel blades and they flayed his pink flesh into ribbons. Yet still their blood boiled, so they doused him oil and as he went up in flames, howled like gibbons. I preach holy gospel, so take this to heart: Life rushes toward death from the moment it starts.
Track Name: Psalm 138
For inflicting the woe and the pain that you've dealt; for all the grief and the cold misery. For all the missed feeling your heart should've felt, Hell gapes wide for thee. For hating and gloating and doing no good, and holding what should have been free. For indulging what sickness had tickled your mood, Hell gapes wide for thee. For lying and sinning and never repenting; a life steeped in wet lechery. For tying that millstone 'round all of their necks, Hell gapes wide for thee. For the hundreds of times that you kicked those gates wide even though you'd been handed the key. For a lifetime of sticking that spear in my side, Hell gapes wide for thee.
Track Name: Psalm of Slumber
Pleas of the damned and doomed.