1. |
Putrid Incarnation
03:20
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An undesired soul rotting in the dirt, it never had a chance to survive.
It got deprived the comfort of a mother’s womb, just to be abandoned in a grove.
Now it sings as the night falls.
Mrgllllglrrmgl!
Brought into the physical realm, just long enough to feel its sting.
To get a taste of betrayal, before starvation began to set in.
The hunger grew as the body decayed, Its form was weak but its will prevailed.
Rebirthed through discontent, the spark delivered by pain.
A once discarded soul now infests our world, will you stand a chance to survive?
Will you become a victim of a reluctant womb, or will you lead a bastard to its tomb?
As bound by the umbilical cord, it clings to our material sphere.
To engorge on expecting mothers, and devour those who tread near.
The hunger grows as life gestates, the taste of conception might numb the pain.
The scorned will persevere until given a name.
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2. |
Embers in the Bog
03:05
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Legends speak of men once drowned in the rivers.
Whose shackled souls use their wrath as tinder.
Land corrupted by festered biomass, transmogrified by hostile spirits.
Lighting embers in the bog, flames that whisper in the fog.
Lights so bright they cloud the mind, coloring the emptiness.
They lure one in with empty vows of solace for the soul.
The embers dance, manifesting the mire's desire to let roots ensnare.
To dissolve the flesh and imprison one's essence.
Legends speak of men once drowned in the rivers.
Whose rotting bones make one lust for cinder.
The only green, the scum of livid weed oozing thick over pitch-black waters.
Taste the liquids of the bog and you’ll never leave the fog.
Come closer. We have awaited thee here at the bottom.
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3. |
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Beaten down, broken, and banished to the crypts below.
Eyes adapting to perpetual darkness.
Isolation sharpening instinct.
The only sustenance their fellow man.
Form distorted through the ages.
Anthropophagus abominations.
Underground, clawing dirt, tunneling.
Once deprived of nourishment, their last resort is to resurface.
Scavenging in the dead of night, emanating from their caverns, set to strike.
The ravenous scourge prepared to emerge, a swarm awaiting sundown.
The moon’s luminescence calls forth an infestation that leaves graves desecrated.
Seeking out the stench of sweet degradation through pest-ridden trenches of the land.
The festering horde has come to engorge, craving foul intestines.
The dead disentombed, rib cages cracked, skulls getting smashed.
Bred in necrosis, their young incubated post-mortem.
The brood kept warm by fermentation.
Now it’s our turn.
To feast upon your dead.
To spread our next of kin.
To Spawn a flesh-bound plague.
Now it’s our turn.
To violate the pure in essence.
To feast upon your dead.
To excavate what's held most sacred.
To spread our next of kin.
To impregnate your perished maidens.
To spawn a flesh-bound plague.
Scavenging under the veil of night.
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4. |
Beast of the Abysmal Sea
04:28
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A hardened ship and crew, sailing under northern lights.
Misguided by the stars, supplies on deck are running dry.
No end to the horizon.
A shadow emerges from the sea.
Its stench brings sailors to their knees.
Harpoons ready at hand.
A roar thunders through the night, a titan reaching for the skies.
Its eyes as black as the abyss, they’ve seen eternities fade.
Behold, a terror of the deep.
A mass of tentacles and teeth.
It knows no guilt.
Mere mortals screaming in dismay, as limbs tear through hull and prey.
What’s not devoured by the beast, gets swallowed by the sea.
It will retreat, far, far beneath the abysmal sea.
Until hunger breaks its slumber and history repeats.
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Gravecrawler Stockholm, Sweden
Extreme Metal act founded in the suburbs of Stockholm in the summer of 2019, with the musical intension of mixing the groove of the old-school Swedish Death Metal scene and the atmosphere of 90's Black Metal, with just a touch of Slam-like grime.
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