from by Grampfather

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I couldn't tell you how long I've been walking down this road,
sometimes feel something creeping deep within your soul--
drawn by a trance, mesmerized by fire,
blinded by your own most base desire;
you're bound to the earth, enmeshed in matter,
aging in your cage, feel your brittle bones rattle
against the chill on the wind, let the moonlight splatter--
we'll all go insane in this holy battle.

I ain't the first, I ain't claiming to be the last
man to see his own unatoned past
unraveling, surrounding him, drowning him in a mire--
see the sepia-toned nostalgia smoke float aloft from the pyre
of your burning regret; keep on trudging,
learn to laugh and forget--
look at you clinging to your old pious ways--
if you feel a guilt bludgeon it, let it fritter away.

Well I will wait for you
yeah, I'll try to see you through,
but you've got to calm down
yeah, you gotta calm down
'cause you're freaking me out.

I, too, was a young man once,
my malleable mind at the mercy of any dunce
who claimed to know where the good and bad go
after they die, in the clouds or in the fire,
but all you can really know for sure
is that you'll wind up in a hearse,
your body will rot in the dirt
or in the air will disperse--
I don't know, how could anybody know;
the path they choose isn't the path for you
so when they ask you to make your call
reject the one and accept them all.

Sick of people telling me
just how it is and how it should be
as if they could see
some idyllic, pastoral landscape on a hill
so goddamn pretty you'd do anything, you'd kill
anyone who will oppose you
from reuniting with your chosen one,
so until then you'll eat His body, His bread,
you'll drink His wine, His blood--
O you cannibal king, you vicious, capricious queen,
you go to church on Sunday after sinning all week--
who are you to speak of these so-called heathens'
savagery? How's your memory?
Before you condemn others, put your own faith into question--
you crazy, barbaric bitches, do you even remember the Inquisition?
O what have you to say? What of the Crusades?
O the hypocrisy is insane, find a scapegoat to blame--
keep your white-washed brain-taint away from my home,
away from my home. Yeah, you don't see me
knocking at your door, no, you don't see me
knocking at your door--you don't see me
knocking at your. . .

Yeah, I will wait for you,
well, I'll try to see you through,
but you've got to calm down
yeah, you gotta calm down.


from Gramps Of Wrath, released July 22, 2017
Vox, guitar, bass: James Kwapisz
Bass: Rick Katterman
Drums: Jesse Grayer



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Grampfather New York, New York

James Kwapisz
Jesse Grayer
Rick Katterman

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