Nekyia 歌词

	[Music by Adam Cook; Lyrics by R. Michael Cook]
	“But when with vows and prayers I had made supplication to the tribes of the dead, I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and the dark blood ran forth. Then there gathered from out of Erebus the spirits of those that are dead…”
	[- Homer, The Odyssey]
	Pray for rain to wash away
	the blood and grease of war.
	Commit to train the children
	to slaughter the children of our mothers and fathers.
	The wheel spun wide,
	geometry lost its true.
	The falcon has lost its gloved hand,
	sinking the heavy ship of all we knew.
	The center hasn’t fallen away.
	We have cast if off
	where all the blood
	was spilt to call the ghosts.
	The buried us in the wounded ground;
	under grass our decay made far too green.
	Nekyia…
	We dug a trench in the Rhineland,
	long as wind, payment for sin.
	The black ram was brought before the lord
	of the lower third of afterworld.
	Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born,
	the new birth beats on the walls of the womb of the
	world. Crawling fourth on four, the earth is torn
	by claws, and two thousand year old horns.
	Nekyia…
	We dug a trench in the Rhineland,
	long as wind, payment for sin.
	The black ram was brought before the lord
	of the lower third of afterworld.
	But instead of its blood being shed,
	our youth was released into the pit.
	The victor laid us down in our beds.
	Thus it was spoke, and thus it was writ.
	Even the idea of a center
	is left outside to rust.
	The sun is falling to dusk
	on the gyre of the western world.
	The wheel spun wide…

	Music by Adam Cook Lyrics by R. Michael Cook
	" But when with vows and prayers I had made supplication to the tribes of the dead, I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and the dark blood ran forth. Then there gathered from out of Erebus the spirits of those that are dead"
	Homer, The Odyssey
	Pray for rain to wash away
	the blood and grease of war.
	Commit to train the children
	to slaughter the children of our mothers and fathers.
	The wheel spun wide,
	geometry lost its true.
	The falcon has lost its gloved hand,
	sinking the heavy ship of all we knew.
	The center hasn' t fallen away.
	We have cast if off
	where all the blood
	was spilt to call the ghosts.
	The buried us in the wounded ground
	under grass our decay made far too green.
	Nekyia
	We dug a trench in the Rhineland,
	long as wind, payment for sin.
	The black ram was brought before the lord
	of the lower third of afterworld.
	Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born,
	the new birth beats on the walls of the womb of the
	world. Crawling fourth on four, the earth is torn
	by claws, and two thousand year old horns.
	Nekyia
	We dug a trench in the Rhineland,
	long as wind, payment for sin.
	The black ram was brought before the lord
	of the lower third of afterworld.
	But instead of its blood being shed,
	our youth was released into the pit.
	The victor laid us down in our beds.
	Thus it was spoke, and thus it was writ.
	Even the idea of a center
	is left outside to rust.
	The sun is falling to dusk
	on the gyre of the western world.
	The wheel spun wide

	Music by Adam Cook Lyrics by R. Michael Cook
	" But when with vows and prayers I had made supplication to the tribes of the dead, I took the sheep and cut their throats over the pit, and the dark blood ran forth. Then there gathered from out of Erebus the spirits of those that are dead"
	Homer, The Odyssey
	Pray for rain to wash away
	the blood and grease of war.
	Commit to train the children
	to slaughter the children of our mothers and fathers.
	The wheel spun wide,
	geometry lost its true.
	The falcon has lost its gloved hand,
	sinking the heavy ship of all we knew.
	The center hasn' t fallen away.
	We have cast if off
	where all the blood
	was spilt to call the ghosts.
	The buried us in the wounded ground
	under grass our decay made far too green.
	Nekyia
	We dug a trench in the Rhineland,
	long as wind, payment for sin.
	The black ram was brought before the lord
	of the lower third of afterworld.
	Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born,
	the new birth beats on the walls of the womb of the
	world. Crawling fourth on four, the earth is torn
	by claws, and two thousand year old horns.
	Nekyia
	We dug a trench in the Rhineland,
	long as wind, payment for sin.
	The black ram was brought before the lord
	of the lower third of afterworld.
	But instead of its blood being shed,
	our youth was released into the pit.
	The victor laid us down in our beds.
	Thus it was spoke, and thus it was writ.
	Even the idea of a center
	is left outside to rust.
	The sun is falling to dusk
	on the gyre of the western world.
	The wheel spun wide

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