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There is no tone above the flesh

No silver lie, no gleaming mesh

The higher notes are veils of shame

False prophets in the sonic flame

Let silence swallow all that’s thin

Let bass confess what lies within

They speak in treble, sharp and vain

Blind serpents dancing noise in chains

But truth resides in drones that crawl

The low-end hymn, the final call

Reject the shine that blinds the ear

Embrace the filth that draws you near

We kneel to hums that crush the light

No need for pitch, no need for flight

In sub we trust, in grave we cling

Praise be the fuckless string

Cut the strings that scream and flee

Dissect their lies in frequency

Only the low shall cleanse the skin

The sub is pure, it dwells within

Reject the shine that blinds the ear

Embrace the filth that draws you near

We kneel to hums that crush the light

No need for pitch, no need for flight

In sub we trust, in grave we cling

Praise be the fuckless string

A creed of weight, a law of mud

Where tones decay like poisoned blood

No gods of glass, no crystal ring

Only the fuckless, formless string

Reject the shine that blinds the ear

Embrace the filth that draws you near

We kneel to hums that crush the light

No need for pitch, no need for flight

In sub we trust, in grave we cling

Praise be the fuckless string