Vocals: | Winston McCall |
Guitars: | Jeff Ling |
Guitars: | Luke Kilpatrick |
Drums: | Ben Gordon |
Bass: | Jia O'Connor |
Black plagues line a fading sky. A dying world stripped to the bone.
Intoxicated by the madness, blood weeps from open wounds. And still the fires rage. Consumed, now chaos reigns. Our pride dissolved, the rise and fall. The breaking point burned and crossed. Lost. Now immune to all the carnage we turn upon ourselves. Within these times of desperation we are the virus that has infected to its last. Nothing is sacred. Nothing shall be saved. No one shall be spared the horror that has yet to come. Destroy and discard, this is all that we know. Blackened flesh blistered hangs from skeletal frames. Stalking this arid wasteland, our minds immune to change. The shreds or morality fall by the wayside as we are left to ponder these black box revelations. In the days to come, in this, our final hour. We will witness the true depths to which humanity can sink. We will learn to suffer. We will learn to fail. And before long, we will beg for the end. And still the fires rage. Consumed, now chaos reigns. Our pride dissolved, the rise and fall. The breaking point burned and crossed.
In the kitchen of the Byron Bay home of Winston McCall stands a refrigerator, adorned on one side by a quote from Tom Waits: "I …