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History Of A Drowning Boy

from Dyatlov by Jonestown

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lyrics

Born violence! Wall to wall in a haze of apathy!
Dreams of kindness on the chopping board of childhood.
Mother of violence, she's welcomed on every continent.
Role model, centurion, your average neighbourhood psycho!

A weak man lives his life a pathetic shroud of secrets (of secret desires).
He carves my terminal existence from his flesh and bone (in sordid isolation).
To satisfy his urge, I loosen my grip on childhood (gorging on my body).
Becoming a God yet still the scattered fragments of a man!

Holding my breath, in this pregnant darkness.
Holding my breath, I'm losing consciousness.

The blade she sings to me, so soft against my ears.
She reassures me that her touch can take the pain away.

No shame, its all been abandoned (all hope is abandoned),
so I dance with the masochists and embrace all my history.
Get fucked by the sadists and swallow the bitterness (embody the bitterness),
down, down, down and down (we all fall down).

Holding my breath, in this pregnant darkness.
Holding my breath, I'm losing consciousness.

Negating existence, I fall from a great height.
Turbulence and vertigo as I ride upon the wings of freedom!
Surrounded by nothingness and bleeding out, I crashed into the ocean.
Now baptised in the blackness, I'm regaining consciousness!

Desperate and destitute, I see my own reflection (I see you),
finally I lay to rest, the dead boy in the bathroom.

Mother forgive me, the violence in my heart.
I will castrate myself and end this corrupted bloodline!
Revenge runs through my veins in your poison blood (it runs cold).
You will die one thousand times and still you'll find no peace (there's no peace).
Isaac now slays Abraham for the murder in his heart (in his heart).
Revenge paramount, my masterpiece, my callous euphoric agony!
Bleed pig, bleed pig, bleed pig...
Die motherfucker!

credits

from Dyatlov, released November 16, 2018

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Jonestown Brighton, UK

We are Jonestown, an exercise in stupidity and the acquisition of dreams sold to us by engaging ourselves in too much TV at an early age. Convinced that we're talented or special, when the painful truth is, we are not special. In the realisation that we are not special we came to find we were angry. Just like us our music is not special but we can assure you it's angry and honest ... more

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