1. |
The Rider
03:05
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It’s barren, a desert of the dead
A thousand miles lie behind with infinite ahead
There’s nothin’ for him - but he won’t turn around
Hasn’t passed a living thing, and none shall be found
He rides on
Through burning hills with blistered wheels
He’ll pierce the scorching sun
He rides on
Decrepit, ruined beyond repair,
Torrid and marred with carcases, a wasteland of despair,
There’s nothin’ for him and he won’t turn around
Hasn’t seen a living sight, heard a living sound
His stare pierces through the bitumen
Tearing asphalt down to rubble, stone and dirt
He bores ahead with possessed conviction,
Oh he rides - yeah he rides
He rides on
Through burning plains with blistered veins
He’ll pierce the scorching sun
He rides on and on and on
Through endless death, to his last breath
The Rider rides on and on and on
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2. |
The Graveyard
04:27
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Among the desolate hills lie pickets to the damned
Where the broken and buried lie
A sprawling mass of plots, each burdened with decay
Unfurling mounds to the horizon
They’re the Rider’s first signs of life this age
Yet serve to cauterise its ends
He unrolls the kickstand before the nearest grave
Stands to pronounce the dead
He walks among the souls of yesteryear
As the sole living man
He walks over the souls of yesteryear
He treads upon the damned
Of the few plots with stones, the stones are seldom whole
And not a single one is named
And yet before him, two rows back to the left
A lone plaque bears an inscription:
“Ride North to the place the few remain,
“Stay with us, Dear Rider, we shall mend your wounds
“Ride North ‘til you reach the deadwoods,
“When you have, Dear Rider, you shall be here soon”
He walks among the souls of yesteryear
As the sole living man
He walks over the souls of yesteryear
He kicks away his stand
He sets upon the land
He rides upon the damned
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3. |
The Deadwoods
04:29
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The thirst that stings his throat remains intense
Bearing the rasp of his twin cylinders
He’s as dry as his arid surroundings
But he is alive
He rides Near-North for lack of bearing
For lack of anything at all
As withered cacti turn to stumps
And stumps to one-time trees
He was a boy, he woke alone
To barren landscapes all unknown
And from the scraps he built a bike
The dead became memories
Then the memories died
Death became his life
His knuckles white from over-clenching
His teeth worn from bitter grinding
He’s pulled his newfound strength from nothing
Yet he is alive
The thick of the dead woods go on forever
Directions fade into nothing
Each further turn loses its meaning
Directions become entwined
He was a boy, upon two wheels
Inside the land of the unreal
A state dreamlike
Upon his bike
The dead became memories
Then the memories died
Death became his life
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4. |
The Town
04:51
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5. |
The Demon
04:31
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The hands he plays are taking hours
The joy fades away
The taste of the beer he drinks turns foul
And becomes stomach ache
The sweetness condenses ‘til sours
Bitterness saturates
The smiling faces turn to scowls
And fester into hate
He’s in a trap, he’s in their lap
He’s at the mercy of this town
Must break away, with no delay
He’s gotta turn this thing around
The barren, nothingness is safety from the town
Must break away, destroy this place
Burn it - down
And now he’s the devil
Now he’s the bringer of death
He’s making the trap in which he’s been wrapped
And he’s gonna catch em
He won’t let ‘em out
He’ll ride it out on his own
For now he can tell
That he is in hell
This hell is his hell
This hell is his hell alone
He unscrews the fuel cap, tilts the bike to the side
Letting incendiary nectar spread out wide
He lights a match a and he steps back - must be ten paces
He flicks it into the fuel pool lighting up the place
Without a fight the bar’s alight
Inside of a thirty seconds flat
And, within two, it’s neighbours too
The Rider’s running out the back
He gets on board, the throttle floored
And rides from the screams
The town becomes dead woods
And now he’s the devil
Now he’s the bringer of death
He’s making the trap in which he’s been wrapped
And he’s gonna catch em
He won’t let ‘em out
He’ll ride this life out on his own
For now he can tell
That he is in hell
This hell is his hell
This hell is his hell alone
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Blackwood Overdrive Brisbane, Australia
Subverting highway Rock'n'Roll, by way of the origins of doom, with stories inspired by King's Dark Tower.
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