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My Place of Solace and Rest is available now!
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Lyrics:

I’ve reached the crux,
With bent and dissonant faith.
The gripping violence in my calm,
Allocates no escape.

Discourse, disharmony,
Subdued in a bleak and dreamless sleep.
Grandeur and larceny,
The volatile becomes my verity.

Desaturate these dismal eyes,
Clot the flux to my cortex,
Conceal the maelstrom inside.
I still discern the scars of your abandonment.

Mother,
Where has the sun gone?
This old soul has felt far too cold for too long.

And I'll wait,
Through the darkest winter,
My brittle bones buried in the creases of your bed.
And I'll wait,
Six feet under,
For you to come home,
To speak my name again.

I’ve come to find my depth,
My place of solace, my place of rest.
A skeleton drowning in the tides of your shadow,
My laden conscience eviscerated and hollowed.

Disperse these umbral skies,
Retrieve my inherited demons,
So I can sleep at night.

And I'll wait,
Through the darkest winter,
My brittle bones buried in the creases of your bed.
And I'll wait, Six feet under,
For you to come home,
To speak my name again.

I found God in my sleep last night,
In a place so vast, a space so dark,
A void I'd crawl into on the premise that I would never awake,
And we spoke,
Oh, we spoke endlessly, blissfully of nothing.
His words were deafening,
His words were silent, defiant of my notoriety,
Violent as my nature, and quiet as my thought.
His quivers ripple through the seams of my anatomy.
His words shattered my ribcage,
Destructive as my subconscious,
And I looked into his eyes an ounce short of conviction and said that I don't want to die,
With affirmation he stated that I will find death in the darkest corners of the greatest perhaps,
And to find myself I must have faith in that.

Return me to the empty house in which I grew,
Where I would converse with ghosts, a crawl space with a roof,
And I know that I don't know who,
The voice that calls from the other end pertains to.
But I remember in my solitude,
You were there too.

Father,
Where has the light fled?
A broken boy beaten and crucified,
At the hands of your surrogate.

With the remnants of this vessel,
I will submerge my contempt.

This repression is a loaded gun,
I’ve cut the flux to my vitals,
I am my father’s son.

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