The Infinity Cinema - Drown The Village In Crimson (Official Video)

The first track off our second EP, Act II: Ascend The Astral Clocktower.

Video by Matthew Manyak (www.matthewmanyak.com)

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/7feG4...
iTunes:   / the-infinity-cinema  
Other Social Media and Merch: https://linktr.ee/theinfinitycinema

Lyrics

Walk on in and sit right down.
We've got all the best drinks in town.
You'll never have to ever feel alone.

Don't mind that dirt under your skin.
We've got enough of liquid sin,
to drown that demon in your bones.

So down that alcohol and let it in your soul.
To find a truth that you can't.
Reveal it to them all, that you're an animal.
That's full of secrets

Down. Inside. You'll find.
That everything that you are is a lie.
Tell me every terrifying insecurity.

These demons that you shackle around,
bleed into this existence.
They manifest.

YEAH!

Oh my dear you've fallen down.
What could it be this time around.
Did you ever stop to think that it's your fault?
We do not know where to begin,
to list all of the things you did.
To make that void inside your heart.

So down that alcohol and let it in your soul.
To find a truth that you can't.
Reveal it to them all, that you're an animal.
That's full of secrets

I cannot answer you tonight.
I just don't think it's worth my time.

Tell me there's more than ever, (Drown the village in crimson.)
A love for human error, (Drown the village in crimson.)
Let fall the damns of water, (Drown the village in crimson.)
Down all this hate forever. (Drown the village in crimson.)

Yeah!

(Concept)

Our writer has found success in both his haunting stories and the pursuit of his magnum opus. The local populous of the village have become obsessed with these horrific visions. They simply couldn't be printed fast enough.

On one particularly drunken night of work, our writer decides to take his newest story directly to his hungry readers. Stumbling through the doors of his nearest bar, he's greeted with cheers and raised glasses. Filled with confidence and deceit in mind, he stands up on the nearest table, takes the closest drink, and tosses it back. The room explodes in applause and roars of approval. But as his book begins to open in his hands, a cold quiet fell over the room as he began to tell his newest story.

Deep into the night, the flow of alcohol had become endless as did the story. Laughing, crying, cheering, this audience was captivated. Anxiously awaiting the onset of fear that was always present in his stories. Though it wasn't sudden, the crowd began to become uncomfortable and insecure. This story was somehow... about them. Where they were, where they are... and where they're going. To some unfathomable future that they couldn't comprehend. The room seemed to host shadows of creatures in place of their own. As soon as things appeared to be hopeless, the room would erupt in cheers at a sudden call for more alcohol. Then the process would start again.

The writer was manifesting his story through writing and he was now using his audience to manifest it even further by hearing it. For his finale to this tale, he needed a change of scenery. He bid everyone follow him to hear the end or to have good night. But every soul in the building began to follow. Even those serving left the bar empty and silent as they followed our writer to the shore.

The writer began to walk into the dark water as he led them. Following and confused, the people grew horrifically anxious, but felt compelled to stay. New onlookers began to gather in curiosity of the crowd. Turning back to continue his story, our writer stops in his tracks and beacons them forward. Claiming their ending is still further ahead. People's growing concern didn't stop them from marching on.

As the water crashed over the tops of their heads, they could hear a massive pulsing coming from much deeper in the water. A thrumming heart beat that felt impossibly deep in pitch. Terror sunk it's teeth into them. Many gave into instinct and thrashed about the water. Turning, screaming, and running away. Some couldn't swim to shore through their panic. Others... seemed compelled... to continue walking forward. Eyes glossed over as they simple sought comfort from the strange pulse. Disappearing deeper and deeper into the sea.

As the rest of the village began to awaken to the screams of horror, our writer stumbles his drunken body down the shoreline cackling to himself and clutching his book. Between drinks and imagination, it's become even more difficult to determine what is real. One thing was for sure, once he was home. He would have to write about this.



But the real reward was the village that we drowned along the way.