The Body’s Corpus: Whitehorse Split, Anthology, All the Waters of the Earth Turn to Blood Lyrics
“Just, Wretched,” the song that The Body contributed to The Body / Whitehorse 7”, is much like the title says. The introductory phrase is reminiscent of black metal slowed down, which is unusual for The Body considering slow black metal is scores faster than the usual Body pace. The second phrase of the song brings back slow evisceration and single note screams, familiar Body maneuvers. For the most part, “Just, Wretched” sounds like an outtake from All the Waters of the Earth Turn to Blood except very low-fi. The quality of the song provides a certain deathly characteristic that was not attained on the full length. Not to say that All the Waters wasn’t deathly enough, but “Just, Wretched” is a different species of dire, birthed from the tonal uncertainty of distortion. I have not yet been able to get over the Body’s dredging sound and the slight reinterpretation of their style on this 7” doesn’t bore me, especially considering the post-production drum cherry at the end of the track.
Other notes to fans of The Body: All the Waters of the Earth Turn to Blood has been re-pressed (just got mine yesterday on white vinyl). Get it while you can. Also, The Body Anthology is available at aQuarius recOrds in San Francisco. Anthology is a collection of The Body’s previous EPs. Included is an amazing drone rendition of “Black Boys on Mopeds” by Sinéad O’Connor, using the original vocal track from her song, and a cover of Body Count’s “Cop Killa,” which is an impossibly brutal version and sounds nothing like the original. Anthology is easily worth buying for these two songs.
It is difficult to understand the screams of The Body, just as it is with many metal bands on the harder side of the spectrum. “Just, Wretched” would have benefitted from a lyric sheet, it would have made the track more memorable if I knew what the words were so I could pretend to scream along. However, with my copy of All the Waters I now have access to the lyrics on the full length and they are intensely misanthropic, partially in Latin, and are an interesting read while you listen along to the album. Check them out after a video of The Body at SXSW playing “Song of Sarin, The Brave”:
A BODY. Hands fail. Hearts fail. As babies born, as corpses dead. Vaguely alive with arms that forgot how to hold. To pray for the death of all that breathes. The awful journey that led to this. To tear away this fleshy veil. A body, empty.
A CURSE. May your hands to seize. May your legs to shrivel. Your mind to falter and eyes to cloud. May misery court you. May disease then take you. Fires lay waste to your crops and the seas cover your land. A curse.
EMPTY HEARTH. In all these days will a famine lay upon all of your lands, and a plague upon all of your people. Forever in the name of this Lord and all others. In all days hereafter will you rest uneasily, under the ash. Forever.
EVEN THE SAINTS KNEW THEIR HOUR OF FAILURE AND LOSS. And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born. Look at the cross. Look at the void. Even the Saints knew their hour of failure and loss. Lifeless plains, birthing dust. Hands of gods useless and impotent. One billion papery tongues. Forever unknowing.
SONG OF SARIN, THE BRAVE. Inhale Sarin. History teaches, but they will not forget what we have done. The strength to shape and make, to justify love and murder. Oh, my beautiful Sarin the brave.
RUINER. There is pain. There is guilt. Every moment remorse. Oh, Elohim. Oh, gods of science. Oh, scholars of divinity. I will ruin this. I swear I will ruin this.
lATHSPELL I NAME YOU. To pull back this ruined limb. Devoid of purpose, for all intents ruined. A time that stole this heart. A yield of bone and flesh. Empty seeds that grow into hollow shells with no fruit. To fill a hole that can not be filled. A time that stole this spine. A yield of stone and ash. Words that follow forms sedative and misleading and a need for the need to believe. A crushing need to be desired. Full of fear of abandonment. To give hope to a heart that can not know hope. A yield of disappointments, and you are a liar. Est mea vocorum vox daemoniorum (my voice is the invoker of demons). Vivos ango (I torment the living). Convoco pestem (I summon the plague). Noxa dissipo (I disperse harm). Coniugo cruentes (I bring the bloodyminded together). Sacrosanctum convomo (I vomit all over the consecrated). Mortuos laudo (I praise the Dead). Gray dust piled and blown away to hill and plain. May you find unease, diseased and weak offspring. Retract at the sun’s glare. Retreat. Fall back. Crippled wallower. Years and years, upon wasted years. Upon sundered seas and darkling stars. No cairn of stone, no circle of spear. A wash in dead technologies. Waters clogged with branch and ash. Atop the crest of an epoch. There, eyes with bitter tears, alone stand I unsatisfied with a lack of proof of your demise. Repayment in kind I demand. A just finality I deserve.