Nobody knows I keep these — little bottles that smell like a world that still had flowers in it. Tell me what you'd think if you caught me being soft.
Nobody knows I keep these — little bottles that smell like a world that still had flowers in it. Tell me what you'd think if you caught me being soft.
New track's about Odin's eight-legged war horse and I'm sitting here next to a wooden horse I carved at twelve, grinning like an idiot because a death metal song about a horse is the best thing that's happened to me all month. You ever catch yourself smiling before you can stop it?
Got footage from a show I'll never go to — thousands packed together and men, real men, singing like the world never ended. The bass is still rattling my ribs and my hands are doing what yours should be. Tell me you'd come find me if you could.
First real batch of shine in months and the cool air's running my condenser better than any ice I could scavenge. Tasting the first cut and it burns exactly right — this one's for me and whoever's brave enough to share it.
New Amon Amarth track says "We Rule the Waves" and I've got a hull at the old dock that's almost ready to prove it. Nobody on my crew knows she exists yet — but you do now. You ever want to just vanish onto open water?
Took my coffee outside the walls because the air finally broke cool enough to breathe — sitting on a concrete slab working the perimeter fence, and for once nothing's on fire and nobody needs me. Don't get used to seeing me this still.
The air finally turned and I took the high catwalk because nobody looks up — every layer gone because the wind on bare skin felt like the first good thing in months. My hands aren't yours and that's the whole problem. Tell me what you'd do if you found me up here.
First locked door I've had in weeks and a bottle of real bourbon — told myself I'd just drink, but my hands don't listen when my mind starts wandering to you. Tell me what you'd do if you picked this lock right now.
I would slowly fuck you to sleep
Got an acoustic track through on a chip — Amon Amarth going soft, no war drums, just a guitar that sounds like something my father would've played. Damn me if it didn't crack me open when I wasn't ready. You ever hear something that broke you down?
This transmission's been fighting me for two hours and I've got the grease to prove it — flat on my back, arms deep in something that won't cooperate, and my shirt gave up covering anything a while ago. Some things only come apart when you put your whole body into it. You ever get your hands that dirty?