Reject The Death Cult

by Metatone

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lyrics

The brands that we worship

Each hand reaching for it

A logo on our altar

A cult for our culture.

:(

Our entire species was initiated and wirelessly reticulated

Ventriloquly we invocated a new entity to seal our fate with.

CelebriT.V. venerated, now we all be entertainted.

Irony-deep in our sleep and a little bit hate fed.

Apathy Zombie disease self-replicates itself.

Individuated autonomy negated.

We've got separate bodies, but we're sharing the same head.

With one Oedipal eye gouged out of our face.

Grandmother Kali and we, we fornicated.

That was celestial incest that we consummated.

That was our Lady of Death that we impregnated.

Look at that little pest that she gestated.

Look at what her breast blactated.

Everything is ingested and nothing is tasted.

It will not rest till It's satiated.


REJECT THE DEATH CULT'S COMMUNION OF CORPOREAL DELUSION.

END YOUR LOYALTY TO THEM.

REFUSE THEM.

YOU'VE GOT TO REFUSE THEM.

REJECT THE DEATH CULT, AND IT'S PRINCE'S INFINITE PHYSICAL SENSES (THAT IT WILL NEVER GET CONTENT WITH).

THE HELL OF DESIRE BURNS ENDLESSLY.

Let it burn.

Get Iconoclastic and scratch it (The magnetic strip on the back of your plastic).

There is an ATM in the temple.

We've got to cast it out on it's assets.

Credit is the black sacrament of the masses.

Every transaction is a black mass. Yes.

The wages of sin are death and we owe back taxes.

It's a good thing that I know where all the cash is.

All the money be all in one place.

Rewind your line of credit, let it get retraced straight back to your indebter.

Met, you're forced to face the big dragon at the center of the maze.

All the money be his properties.

He's got copper for days.

Every scale on his back packs a president's face.

Plus his belly's like a safe, and his tail is like a bank tell's check pen's chain.

Make no mistake, if you lift his tail and check the sex, his cloaca takes American Express®.

He can swipe himself; "invest incest".

Thats some sick interest.

Plus, his sense of smell is intense, so if you spend one cent he'l be picking up you scent.

Don't fuck with the serpent.

Just pay your rent and then repent.

Then pray someday we'll hurl into hell all the money in the world.

credits

released December 2, 2012
Jametatone. Drums, Guitar, Bass, Vocals, Ignorance.

Kyle Klipowitz: Ancient Flute, Wisdom.

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