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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.

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from Psalms for the Spiritually Dead - Remastered, released December 9, 2014

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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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