Dread Doom Ruin

by Ghast

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When the thorns have pierced our tongues and the blood has been spat upon bone and the colour is red, the abyss of death is coated anew.

The bleakest GHAST record to date! No light, no peace. The ash of ritual, the thundering roar of violence. Tales of hatred, brutality and suffering howled over the most devastating Black-Doom Metal. Ghast’s mark, the collision of monolithic Doom with Black Metal’s sinister majesty, branded into each of their works; again taken to greater levels of negativity. Words can not convey the power of this album, only by immersing yourself will you discover the true depths as the horror is invoked.


released August 18, 2014

All music and lyrics: Ghast

Todestrieb Records, 2014
TTR 045



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Todestrieb Records Ipswich, UK

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Track Name: Hate Stone
The stone is cold and wet,
The magic-men remove the gloves and
place their right hands on its surface,
their eyes closed as they chant the incantation in unison.
And then they each splash blood from their palms
onto the sacred pillar and the spell is cast.
They have sealed their hate into the stone
and all of them drop to the ground about it, lifeless.
Every living thing that approaches the stone
will feel conflict and be driven to violence.
Plant will suffocate plant, beast will attack beast,
insect will devour insect
and man will kill man
near this sacred stone.
Track Name: Festival of Serpents
It was in the cold dungeon and surrounded by the holy
we were chained to the floor, damp to the bone,
breath pressed out by weights piled upon the chest.
We were hung from the stone, forced to drink, drowning.
We spat out our bile, cursed them.
With pure hate, we confessed.
We were placed in the line, a procession of ghouls,
towards the auto-da-fé.
A black sambenito, all serpent and flame.
My fate is the fire, bound to the stake.
The festival unfolds.
I can smell the flesh burning.
I can hear the shrieking and the crackle and roar of the blaze
over the moaning and the glee of the crowd.
Those screaming men and women ablaze,
with necks that would not be throttled; heretics until the end.
Track Name: Demons that Fled the Ferocity of Men
We had left a life of merciless death for something we had glimpsed in dreams.
A place we could sleep unarmed and fear could be left to the past. We drank away our memories, fucked and kissed goodbye our scorn.
In secrecy and ritual we smashed our swords and buried our names. But those whom we'd left behind needed only to see a face.
So they brought their steel upon us. So we let death into our hearts and slew our foes where they stood and left their corpses at that place.
Towards more vultures, hate sheathed to the waist and death in our hearts where it has always belonged.
Amidst blood forever; I knew the sword was hatred and most fierce vengeance is all.
Track Name: Grave Cult Woe
And so it was that shivering and filthy among the pits, pelted by rain and blinded by wind, we tumbled to lie with the dead.
The sage led us here to study the rot. Streams flow past and in their snaked reflections the expressions are more austere.
To drink of the sadness and hush down below. The silence calmed us and gave the gift of sight.
Of other places separated by breath and sealed with blood.
The torches were lit, our face revealed; mirrors to death, breathing the smoke of elders.
We lie with the ancestors and witness the grief, the world.
Marked by their dust, the moon signals that the ritual is done.
When the thorns have pierced our tongues and the blood has been spat upon the bone and the colour is red, the abyss of death is coated anew.
Track Name: Lost in Fog
Out among the bracken, the rocks and the dead fog has risen.
Covered with mud and dew,
almost blinded by branches that stab through the cloak.
This used to be a forest.
Now it is damp ash, mould, death and bone.
Lured here by voices carried on winds that batter,
by howling and singing of drowning and final gasps.
The chattering of the dead mesmerises and urges me to fall;
to be trapped beneath the cloak.
Spoiled in the bog.
Breathing moss that lingers and joins one's blood
that will flow to this mass womb of lost, drifting, mad shadows.
Track Name: Scorn and Death
March through the shade of the weeping boughs.
All lament, fist and blade and no shame.
This weapon is ready and a curse is at my lips.
To cut and howl at all of that creed whom cross my path
for first and final time.
As brave as they may, it is a surge into the maw.
I will summon the will of pure, bursting hatred
and be blind to the humanity of my snake-like foe.
My work will be so, so rough and when I am done,
when I hear no more man, strong or riddled with moans,
then I will fall to the ground, a husk,
completely spent and probably to my grave!