More songs by Lamb of God
Description
On the threshold of some great unraveling - the night air thick with illness and long-forgotten promises, the road stretching like a ribbon of memories. A note in a notebook, as if whispering to someone: “new line, madness on schedule,” and the engines of monotony hum in unison. The sacred mother Death steps out onto the street with a grim smile, and everything around suddenly looks like a golden crust on a baked past - beautiful, but with a taste of ashes.
It sounds like an evil prayer with a touch of sarcasm: Kevlar threads are woven, a sickle stretches across the neck, silver rolls into lead, and the stolen flowers of the state hang upside down. There is both theatricality and quiet cruelty here - as if at an apocalypse party, everyone is dressed in cult robes, and someone with warm malice is setting fire to it. It feels like a domestic disaster: frighteningly close and a little funny, because in the end, worshiping the end becomes a habit.
Lyrics and translation
Original
On the eve of the great unraveling, I took the long way home
Sickness clouded the night air along the darkened road
New baseline, insanity
Racing the engines of conformity.
Holy Mother Death, rising up from Mexico
To cast her rictus grin across the wilted amber waves below
Holy Mother Death, walk with me into the night.
Far too strange to be estranged
Terror sweeps the fruited plain
But I was born undead and given to offense
Coffin nails and graveyard dust to curse the populists.
Caustic, anodyne.
Stitched together, strung with a kevlar thread
Sneaks the reaper, a hooked blade across your neck
Smoke bathing death's head
Silver turns to lead
Sneaks the reaper...
Stolen flowers of the state, devotion to a hidden saint
Dead and hanging upside down, destruction of your holy ground
Calling me to take it, then to raze it
I will burn you out.
The reign of death begins
You're all in a cult
A fucking death cult
And I venerate your end.
Muerte, Muerte...