The Unread Palm
from Prone Burial by Void Dancer
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Streaming + DownloadIncludes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.Purchasable with gift card
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Buy the Full Digital Album
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Limited Edition Cassette
Cassette + Digital Album1st press:
- Limited to 50
- Silver shell with maroon print
- Double sided full color 4 panel insert featuring art by Alexandre Goulet
Includes unlimited streaming of Prone Burial via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.Sold Out
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Compact Disc (CD) + Digital AlbumProne Burial on CD
- Out of 100
- Full color 4 panel digipak w/ lyric insert
Includes unlimited streaming of Prone Burial via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.ships out within 5 days4 remaining$10 USD or more
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lyrics
As a palm reads of misfortune, you are meant for the fist.
To reject fate is a torture. I can tell you how hard it hits.
The vast shades of dull grey multiply.
You will bend, never break.
With a passive disillusion to the trees and a curse deeply rooted as I count all of my rings.
A cascade of old shame floods the soul. Let it wash over me.
A cascade of undying shame.
Misfortune, from which you came.
Even illiterate minds can open and read you.
A line of heart ends, the reading was true
to the fact that you follow in footsteps walked on paved roads.
To the fact that you try to find false pride in this hell hole,
in spiral shame.
Don’t become a victim to your own heart,
because some are made to be broken.
And some are thriving and full.
Unfit for living inside of a box, in a palm that reads misfortune.
Despite any efforts of valor the reading was true
to the fact that you wallow in sorrow to the same songs.
To the fact that you choose to plant roots where you don’t belong,
in spiral shame.
If horses were wishes my ride would end soon.
My wishes never come true.
I want every breath, nothingness, an abyss manifested.
They say fake it until you make do, most never will.
The read stays true. These hands have serpents inside.
Slither, coil, and writhe.
To reject fate is a torture. I can tell you how hard it hits.
The vast shades of dull grey multiply.
You will bend, never break.
With a passive disillusion to the trees and a curse deeply rooted as I count all of my rings.
A cascade of old shame floods the soul. Let it wash over me.
A cascade of undying shame.
Misfortune, from which you came.
Even illiterate minds can open and read you.
A line of heart ends, the reading was true
to the fact that you follow in footsteps walked on paved roads.
To the fact that you try to find false pride in this hell hole,
in spiral shame.
Don’t become a victim to your own heart,
because some are made to be broken.
And some are thriving and full.
Unfit for living inside of a box, in a palm that reads misfortune.
Despite any efforts of valor the reading was true
to the fact that you wallow in sorrow to the same songs.
To the fact that you choose to plant roots where you don’t belong,
in spiral shame.
If horses were wishes my ride would end soon.
My wishes never come true.
I want every breath, nothingness, an abyss manifested.
They say fake it until you make do, most never will.
The read stays true. These hands have serpents inside.
Slither, coil, and writhe.
credits
from Prone Burial,
released April 22, 2022
license
all rights reserved
tags
about
Void Dancer Seattle, Washington
deprivating progressive death
discography
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Apr 2022 -
May 2020
contact / help
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