The debut compilation LP Cold Crypt Sonatas Vol. I including two bonus tracks. Resplendent in a jewel case with full color 12 page booklet and tray card. Limited quantities.
Includes unlimited streaming of Cold Crypt Sonatas Vol. I
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
ships out within 5 days
edition of 100
A 100% cotton black T-shirt emblazoned with the Ethereal Blood sigil in crimson.
ships out within 5 days
Night Of The Lecherous Dead
"Through out mankind's history there have always been days revered,
When the veil betwixing life and death is gossamer thin and sheer.
When the great majority mass themselves and seek an evenings fun.
To sing and dance in base relief, with sweet meats yet to come..."
In the tombs of long forgotten ghouls of a misty mountain pass,
Handfuls of decrepit denizens talk in whispers of the past.
From their coffins, crypts, and unmarked holes they chatter endlessly.
'Neath moon and fog in droves abounds nostalgic reverie...
...Of life, and loss, and true love known,
From these dessicated wraiths of flesh and bone.
A yearning profound,
From the tenement ground,
For the little things they all had known.
And the thing missed most,
By these pitiful ghosts,
Nary one of them denies.
The mere mention of which,
Gives the lot an itch,
That they hasten to satisfy.
A good nights fuck,
And with any luck,
They could rest in peace a spell.
And with passions aflame,
Who of us could blame,
The atrocities that befell?
A good nights suck,
Then in the dirt they will tuck,
Their jovial weary heads.
Spent from unspeakable debauch,
On this Night Of The Lecherous Dead!
They dig and crawl, and are rewarded when the turf doth set them
Stretching leathery limbs,
Singing mocking hymns,
To the powerless Gods that be!
Rakish fiends from the bowels of Hades,
Dreaming of young, and older, ladies.
All quivering mouths on silken thighs,
All screams and coarse phlegmatic sighs.
They knock upon the village doors to solicit a maggoty kiss.
George A. Romero never saw it quite like this.
Falling 'pon the slumbering women like eager ruffians.
And with no ears to hear their pleaing, their exalted in their sins.
But the men fare worse,
Though they kick and curse,
At risen wanton whores.
Famished vulvas straddle them,
Until weakened they protest no more.
An orgy for the Greeks of old,
Warm living flesh for members cold.
A glint in cloudy cataract eyes,
Consent matters not for those who've died!
Never acts of lust so foul,
From mortal deviants on the prowl.
So vulgar as to make it seem,
They invite angels to intervene.
Two or three on one,
Racing 'gainst the rising sun
For climax ere the crow doth caw,
Panting ends for grotesque Ménage a Trois.
They are warm again,
In the world of men,
Through raped and racked embraces.
Orgasm returns the faintest blush,
To these sallow sunken faces.
'Twas a good nights lick,
Of forgotten pricks,
That washed their gripes away.
'Twas a hasty thrust,
To penetrate their crust,
Bar romance and foreplay.
Just a brazen shunt,
Of neglected cunts,
Ere returning to stoney beds,
Carnal needs fed,
And no bastards bred,
On this Night Of The Lecherous Dead.
Many moons ago a group of diverse and vainglorious bastards
conferred together with the intention of forming an independent band. After much inebriated discussion (and vomiting) the stars aligned in favor for the decrepit birth of the musical group Ethereal Blood....more