Light-footed cowards, we feed from the hand that will destroy us.
As long as we’re the last to go, we’ll grow like weeds off of corpses.
From the summits of burial grounds we were lifted into lives of privilege.
We fill the emptiness inside of us with the refuse of clear cuts.
There’s blood on all of our hands.
There’s blood on all of our hands.
It’s time to choose whose.
Nothing is neutral when the default is negation of everything living.
It’s time to choose:
the rust or the steel it consumes. The light or the moth that’s subsumed.
It protrudes from the forest floor.
A glimmer catches a child’s eye.
An overgrown and rotting hull.
An artifact of what is no more.
“Did our kin help them defeat
these monsters that lay under feet?”
Toronto band Respire deliver a post-hardcore tour de force on the largest scale possible, orchestrally rich and incessantly uncompromising. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 6, 2021