Danse Macabre from Ars Moriendi by Sons of Perdition

Death comes to Rome
Wherefore to summon the Pope
With the plague in a sack
And a lute on a rope
The cold worms tunnel in
As hot life leaches out
So we wrest the squirming toad
From the barrow of his mouth
Croak! Croak! Croak!

Death descends next
Upon the great palace lawn
To pipe for the Emperor
And bid him come along
And his flesh, it goes soft
And his bile, it flows black
So we sew him up tight
In his funeral sack
Caw! Caw! Caw!

Death finds himself
In the castle’s great hall
And drums for the King
Who meekly cowers from his call
But his soul hisses out
As to Death he doth yield
So we burn him like trash
In the pit out in the field
Crack! Crack! Crack!

Perfume your body
With camphor and lye
And dress in the finest robes
That money can buy
Take the hand that is offered
Though it’s cold as the clay
And dance into the ravenous
Mouth of the grave

Nearly done with his work
The labourer meets Death
And hoarsely sings to his Maker
With the last of his breath
His death rattle marks
The final end of his days
So we nail his coffin shut
Before his body turns gray
Bang! Bang! Bang!

Death alights last
Trilling far atop a tree
To lure a babe to its shade
While her poor mother grieves
And the pus runs so free
As flesh clings to the bone
That we chisel out her name
Upon the cold, lifeless stone
Tap! Tap! Tap!

• Experimental
• apocalyptic folk
• avant-americana
• cosmic horror
• folk horror
• gothic country
• Glasgow