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Mother Of All Woe

from The Land Is Not An Idle God by Wreathe

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lyrics

6. Mother of all woe

What games have been played with tailored flesh!
The tapestries become bindings in their great length
Recording the banal missives of oppression
The fragility of man’s endeavours

They have bestowed us with each link
Forged in the fires of partition

The cages wrought unwillingly unwillingly
Each bar placed with their own words,
with their own words.

Tears, the blood, the sweat,
Quotas filled when all are shed
The labours gone unacknowledged
Shackles grimly greased
The only residue of their toil

She, who stays the raised fist
And fashions blades in secret places

She, the livid experience
Who endured the flaying teeth
Whose soporific held pain at bay

Stone effigy hidden
Inside statues to pretenders
We crack the plaster
To reveal her majesty

For the Mother collects each woe
As liquor for her engine’s flame
To smite the calloused hand
And cut the bridle’s tethering

The body politic
Regains its personhood
Its snarl and cunning rage
And claws the eyes unbidden

credits

from The Land Is Not An Idle God, released July 28, 2023

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Wreathe London, UK

Anti-fascist Emo crust from London, UK

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