SADOMISANTHROPY

by Gorebore

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02:07

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released April 30, 2016

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Gorebore Maryland

Hailing from the dirtiest, grimiest pit of Pasadena, MD, GOREBORE emerges from the abyss with an arsenal of heavy, grinding metal. This sinister 3 piece combo of brutality conjured by A.J. Brandenburg and Mike Boyle, was summoned to drill its way through the cerebral cortex of the underground metal scene. ... more

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Track Name: Becumming the Nun
Whore for the lord,
Loathing your chastity more and more.
The church must be upheld.
Hold the greed, throw the concubine between their feet.

Her gown must be unweaved.
Prayer beads, these you need
Up your ass, on your knees,
Now I give to thee

My eternal SEED

For the lord.
For Gorebore.
His forgotten son has
Become more than one x2
Track Name: Birds and the Bees
Thrust - Thrust - Thrust
The temptation was lust.
Raven hair shines forth
so luminous.

Tattered breast, my hands caress.
You wait your turn, till man/woman's your's
My cock- erect, inject GET WRECKED.
Take hold of curtains, your pussy's slain for certain.

Thrust some more, you've reached your peak.
Your legs are shaking, your labia's weak.

Here you cum,
Here you cum,
CUM CUM CUM CUM,
Here you cum,
Here you cum,
OH FUCK YEAH!

Here you cum,
Here you cum!

Demented moaning,
Beast like groaning
indulging in sex
is what we do best. x2

IT'S WHAT WE DO BEST!

SUCK ME OFF!

It starts with the Habit of Sex!
Track Name: For Those Who Live in the Morgue
Carving your brains in,
entomb me in your skin.
Embalm me in bile,
your fluids make me smile.

Wandering around this graveyard,
the aesthetics of crypt drive me wild
while I wait for your succulent....

FLESH-
SO FRESH!
AND DOSED-
IN PISS! x2

Bring on the tombs,
of the Exhumed
It's stench is a call...

FOR THOSE WHO LIVE IN THE......

IN THE MORGUE!

Crawling creeps from 6 feet deep
they rise so their frigid soul's don't weep,
Live nocturnal, breed at funerals
I stir in the depths, to feast upon the

FLESH
FRESH
DOSED
IN PISS!
Track Name: Lusket
How empty life is and without meaning.
We bury a man, we follow him to the grave,
we throw three spades of earth on him,
we ride out in a coach, we ride home in a coach,

we take comfort in the thought
that a long life awaits us.
But how long is threescore years and ten?
Why not finish it at once?

Life is become a better drink to me,
and yet it must be taken in drops,
counted one by one.

No one comes back from the dead,
no one a has entered the world without crying;
no one is asked when he wishes to enter life,
nor when he wishes to leave.