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Residue Of Souls

from Redeemers by Grey Moray

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lyrics

Demonize the man with the demon eyes
Arm the hand that feeds the hungry head’s mouth
Jail the mailman, a senseless sacrifice
While the sender sends his lies of what’s left inside

A call for a wall to surround them all
Built of brass and glass to outlast the rotten past
We all fall to the thrall and embrace the trawl
Set out to hunt the political outcast

This is the sound of the residue of souls
These are the echoes of the stories untold

Stones that grind the gears of machines turn into dust
Like sand that tears the eyes that lie behind the crust

Spun around like a top by the top that’s turned
Against the face that has become the base of this case
A thousand years in jail with every match burned
Crack the whips and set the pace for your blunt slaves

This is the sound of the residue of souls
These are the echoes of the stories untold

Stones that grind the gears of machines turn into dust
Like sand that tears the eyes that lie behind the crust
Greedy hands that slap the child, set it straight
And bring it back to justice, this is the right way

(we cannot rely on your weak morals
they need setting straight, a steady hand, a strong hand
And all you can hear is bong smoke
It drowns out every other sound)

It’s about what feels right
It’s about what seems right
It’s about what tips the scales back to order

Stones that grind the gears of machines turn into dust
Like sand that tears the eyes that lie behind the crust
Greedy hands that slap the child, set it straight
And bring it back to justice, this is the right way

Born to worship the wrong shade of green
A sense of rightness blows hard from the right
Taught to torpidly follow the wrong kind of dream
Follow the smoke signals into the night

credits

from Redeemers, released August 18, 2017

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Grey Moray Celle, Germany

Like their namesake Grey Moray bite hard and lurk deep. Their uncompromising assault with heavy walls of fuzzed up, boosted up, amped up guitars and heavy bass, layered with sharp-toothed vocals and incessant tides of percussive flux sweep your feet out from beneath you and take you down into their lair: the riff. ... more

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