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Provenance

by Animus

supported by
Lukas Shumaker
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Lukas Shumaker Awesome album, amazing melodies, interesting lyrics, raw but tasteful well balanced mixing.. 9/10.

also love that Samuel Furgeson's The Fairy Thorn was put to such amazing melodic tech death.. the folk tale vibe enchants and entertains me no end.. too catchy haha. Favorite track: The Fairy Thorn.
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1.
Overture 04:43
2.
Premonition 04:47
I dreamt I was on a sphere last night. And there was a man in front of my eyes. I asked to see his face, and he shook his head, so I turned to approach him from the other side, But there he was again, his back to myself . Frustrated, I turned my head around, to see the front of his body and the back of his head. I threatened him severely My rage was growing and He laughed. I drew a knife and with several smooth strokes I tore him to pieces. He fell to his knees, buried his head in his hands, and I awoke. With trembling hands and rapid pulse. Wondering how I had come to the river. Thinking of purity and salvation. A keen pierced the air And filled me with terror The blood on my hands could stay there forever The soaked earth groaned under my weight and I dropped like a stone full of anger and hate. Laughter and wailing both rang in my ears. Out of my power. In spite of my rage They persist.
3.
Where one mind wanders and another takes its place. When ideas collect in systematic discord. How a mind disappears but not without a trace. And perpetuates itself without a word. Lost in thought. Inconsequential calculations Alter the way we see ourselves In a world of marble I am but a stone. The simplest of concepts Has the power to, When in the right hands, Bring watershed. Mine are not the right hands, And the concept is just a concept. Circumlocution Turns the simple to the complex And brings ambiguity from clarity. My thoughts collect Whirl and swirl in cryptic spirals. Abound in me astoundingly And twist my wretched frame. And leave.
4.
Dissonance 02:33
5.
Cáil 06:11
Eyes fixed. Jaw clenched. My blood boils in anticipation, But my face betrays me nothing. So fly, my ire, into rhapsodic rage And bleed your filth into my name. My desire waxes all the same. Your eyes widen with realization. I trace the lines of fear on your face, Receive what you have earned. Spark to fire, the ignition is repeated. In severalty. It is my misfortune that reality and imagination inhabit separate spheres, for I reside, at times, on their seam. I am just. I exhibit your offenses on your flesh. I etch your trespasses into your flesh. In my disdain I enchain you impure. Ironic impulsive inflammatory indulgents. Can you find freedom through forgiveness? I am seized with bitterness. Release me And fly, my ire, into vapid shades. That I may split this iron cage Lest I rot within its frame. Your scope is narrow, And your vision is tunneled. Lust clouds your sight and it destroys us. If you saw, truly saw, It would break you. Why, my brother, do you harm me so? When I uncage you, I will liberate us both. It is no longer My judgement that condemns you. Here is the key. Walk. Tongues, the better with to test you. Tongues, the better with to heal you. Tongues, the better with to bless you. Tongues, the better with to fear you.
6.
7.
“GET up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel; For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep; Come up above the crags, and we’ll dance a Highland reel Around the Fairy Thorn on the steep.” At Anna Grace’s door ’twas thus the maidens cried, Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green; And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside, The fairest of the four, I ween. They’re glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve, Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare; The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave, And the crags in the ghostly air. And linking hand-in-hand, and singing as they go, The maids along the hillside have ta’en their fearless way, Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey. The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim, Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee; The rowan berries cluster o’er her low head grey and dim In ruddy kisses sweet to see. The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row, Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem, And away in mazes wavy, like skimming birds they go, Oh, never carolled bird like them! Pt. II But solemn is the silence upon the silvery haze That drinks away their voices in echoless repose, And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes, And dreamier the gloaming grows. For from the air above and the grassy ground beneath, And from the mountain-ashes and the old white-thorn between, A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe, And they sink down together on the green. Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed, Soft o’er their bosoms beating—the only human sound— They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd, Like a river in the air gliding round. Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say, For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away, Tears form in terror. Tears shed in terror. They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold, They feel her sliding arms from their trancèd arms unfold, For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes, Or their limbs from the cold ground raise; Till out of night the earth has rolled her dewy side, With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below; When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morningtide, The maiden’s trance dissolveth so
8.
Mo chara thú go daingean Brón is paisean ar mo chroí, Is i gcéist í do chlú Mar chonaic tú foréigean A chuisle, Tá an saol seo lán, Mo mhuirnin bán óg, Le hurchóid agus olc Ceileann an ceo do chosán. Lá éigin, beidh cumhacht is cáil a’at, ‘s fágfaidh do sháil toirneach ar a cúl. Eagróidh do shúile réaltbhuíonta Mar sin féin, faoi láthair is tusa iasc gan gáilleach Sheas tú ar laftán aréir Bhí an ghrian ag éirí thar na sléibhte Ach chuaigh sí faoi tréimhse Nuair a lig tú béic ar an spéir D’fhág mo shaontacht i do chónra Adhlacadh mo dóchas le do luaith Agus nuair ar maidin a smaoiním ort Is mise a ghortaíonn sé go tráthnóna. Mo bhrón go chaillim m’iníon Macánta, íon, dóighiúil. Cé go níonn mé do ghortú Fannan an fhuil, cosúil le fíon. Do chuaigh Críost ar an gcreig, do leonadh cos eich; chuir sé fuil le fuil, feoil le feoil, cnámh le cnámh. Mar shlánaigh sé sin Go slánaí sé seo. Amen. TRANSLATION: Oh steadfast friend Sorrow and passion on my heart. Your reputation is in question Because you saw danger. O pulse, this world is full, My fair young darling, With iniquity and evil, The fog conceals your path. Some day you will have power and fame And your heel will leave thunder behind it Your eyes will rearrange constellations But at present you are a fish without gills. You stood on a ledge last night The sun was rising but it sank below the horizon when you let a scream at the sky. My innocence left in your coffin My hope was buried with your ashes and when in the morning I think of you it is hurting me until evening. My sorrow that I lost my daughter, Honest, pure, beautiful. When I wash your wound The blood stays, like wine. Christ walked in a rocky place. A steed’s foot was hurt. He put blood to blood flesh to flesh bone to bone. As he healed that may he heal this. Amen.
9.
Lucid Dreams 06:49
Frozen inside of a great conflagration Condemned to watch and feel While voices and murmurs of spectral vexation linger, rise, return and revile. Unrestrained and bolted in a marvelous demonstration of What she creates. In my mind’s eye I see her taken, Now, as then. Frozen like the others her protector fails. There is a place Beyond walls, hills, and form, Or perhaps within them Where anything and everything is possible and true. Perhaps she is dreaming. Perhaps she is there, Running over meadows With neck and ankles bare Or chance her lifeless body Is hollow, as her stare. My eyes are ever streaming. Perhaps I am dreaming. Perhaps she is here. In dreams there is hope of restitution dashed repeatedly by the calling of the crow. One abducted. Three destroyed. All four lost. This morbid cycle, endless, structureless, is not my Father's world.
10.
Ambiguity 03:58
It is not uncommon To fail to find a muse To look for inspiration, Disregarding It's derivation. Sinking Into the depths Gasping, wanting Absolution. Scarcity breeds value. Perception changes With scenery. When such a thing is found It is all the more important. Rise, now! From the depths Where I buried you in dreams Of retribution. It is not uncommon To fail to find the truth. Power is Contentment in the Face of failure.
11.
Windows 03:09
I looked through a window last night, And, seeing half my face, Looked myself in the eye. I thought of how improbable it was that I'd remember. My mind wandered on to all the other times I'd had the same thought, Too numerous to enumerate, And not a single one remembered. My mind wandered on to all the other times I'd had the same thought, Which do I believe? The reflection, So full of wickedness and anguish, The other half, so tranquil, tangible. On a single surface, A convergence of two worlds. Each as real as the other.
12.
Departure 03:20

about

Written and Recorded by Charlotte French
Mixed and Produced by Jessie Feliciano

"Premonition" and "The Fairy Thorn" cowritten by Ryan Wu
"Woi" cowritten by Jane French

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released November 28, 2015

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Animus

Progressive Tech Death Band from Brooklyn, NY

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