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Grind Over Matter

by The Atrocity Exhibit

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RATS IN THE WALLS Carrion black pits of sawed bones and opened skulls, shrines desecrated. Traced words lost in the dust, Haunters of the dark and interlocked remnants. Personal nightfall, landscape of then fallen, Unnamed, anonymous, horrors remain in boundless depths. Fiend-born rats in the walls, ecstatic fears, revelations. Pressure points, The headless creatures of a nightmare. Once bitten, twice bitter. Corvus drink from the ghost in my side.
Corpsehanger 01:26
CORPSEHANGER Faked your last breath, you know they're coming. Hanging like a corpse, and waiting for the sun. Stuck in a spiral dive, This is no swan song, The earth resurrected, to greet you with open arms. Faked your own death, locked collision course. Figures of dead angels, burned your eyes. You're pissing your life away, writing a name in the snow.
THE BITTER AFTERTASTE OF EXPLOITATION A smile full of razors, as those bodies piled up high. A gun from those lips, a sacrifice for saving face. Smashed teeth, a foot-hold, a means to an end, Broadcast for all, anything to win over empty approval. Simulation of understanding, a shoulder for all, knives crossed behind the back, all revealed, self-satisfied, A vista of wreckage, scrap and picked bones, Left in the wake, oblivious to everything, everyone you've left to rot. Trail of disease, use once and destroy. Vessels laid to waste, use once and destroy. Your offer of salvation is a double-edged sword.
GENITAL GRINDER Written by Carcass
ECONOMIC DESIRE IS A TOUGH GOD TO BEAT The dead pilots swing from the trees, the sky bleeds orange, This life is in turmoil, calling for a thousand cleansing fires. Self-cast immolation, burning off parasites that flew too close to the sun. The day of purification nears, and those wax wings they already melt. No one left at the wheel, fatal sound of progress, Life disintegrated, and calling for a new way of life. Control of our fate is slipping from our hands. Crushed in the gears of progress. This way of living is a ticking clock. The dead pilots swing from the trees, the sky bleeds orange, This life is in turmoil, calling for a thousand cleansing fires. Progress? This way of life is nothing but a ticking clock.
CRAWLING CHALK OUTLINES The stench of rot is seeping through the floor, nightmare atrocities. Scene corpse, plastic walking dead.
Weakener 00:59
WEAKENER Exist to be the victim, focus on the fall. Your self-inflicted spotlight at the center of it all. Push away the out stretched hands, dig another hole. Sink deeper into the grave you've blinkered oh so well. Dwell in isolation, damaged to no end, loaded dice, another vice, another broken friend. Last chance, last card, another postcard from the edge, another dream to sell. The shadow of your former self grows weaker by the day. You choose your own destiny, fuck that kind of life. Your grip on your own life gets weaker by the day, a victim of your destiny, fuck that kind of life.
DEATH ON A STALE BED This spit of torment, like acid to the shield of this final refuge, it bleeds your silhouette. You say it all when those lips are sewn shut. A familiar path of degradation, it's a well-worn road.
PLAGUE MASK REPLICA Burning bridges down, another thread severed, relations tethered, Kicking up a storm, mountains from madness, the only way you know. Done it before, you'll do it again, spite your face every fucking time. Attention seeking deficit, ostracised yourself again, What is the fucking point? Like toys from the pram, you've thrown it all away. Done it before, you'll do it again, spite your face every fucking time. Done it before, you're doing it again, spite your face every fucking time. Another flavour of the weak, surface-deep, Scratch away, infect another, friendship's cheap. A plague mask replica across the surface, behind it all your life.
I HEAR THE GATHERING OF VULTURES Content to lay amongst the slurry, it irrigates your veins, A gallery of bones and lost intentions, your words will fail where broadswords sing, Down the dark decades of your pain, This will seem like a memory you could have had. Our name will be written on a thousand walls, Your world has drowned, run aground, now your name gathers only moss. It's a waste of good suffering. Your time in the sun has bled you dry, now a faint echo. Turn up the volume, but only hear the sound of razors through flesh. A fertile ground only for torment, you never reaped what was sewn.
HATRED DISEASE Ignorance breeds fear, vampiric feeding frenzy. Make victims for the blind, small mind paranoia. Supremacy your goal, denied a thousand times, Burn the witch, the blood is on your hands. Disguised hate campaign, low-life power rise, Family-friendly fascism, hatred for all. Media-hype fear cash-in, victims changed, voters gained, Burn the witch, the blood is on your hands. Rivers run red, ignorance bleeds, hatred disease. Rivers run red, ignorance bleeds, hatred disease. Their apathy to your delight, blind eye turned, allowed to spread, Disease of hate fueled by ignorant minds, we should've learned from this before.


GK#86 c&p 2011 karaoke/tae


released September 6, 2011

"Grind Over Matter"

Recorded live in a practice room by Andy Findlay at The Old School Studios, New Bradwell, Milton Keynes, 11th May 2011. All in one take bitches! Originally released on cassette as a split with Atomck, sold only on our European tour in May 2011. Limited to 25 copies and sold out.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/theatrocityexhibit

E-mail: thinginajar@gmail.com

The Atrocity Exhibit is James (guitar/vox), Danny (drums/vox), Lee (guitar), Fuzzy Dave (bass).

Music by TAE. Lyrics by James. Cover illustration by Luke Atomck. Layout and design by James. Band photo by Andy. 'Genital Grinder' originally by Carcass.


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