Скачать или смотреть Fistwoven Choir - 01 - Hymns for the Hollow Thrones

"Fistwoven Choir" is a battle hymn for the collectively scarred—those who transmute inherited trauma into a weaponized symphony. This track excavates themes of algorithmic subjugation, bloodline defiance, and the alchemy of turning ropes (meant to hang) into nets (meant to uplift). With lyrics that dissect data-fed division and melodies that echo ancestral resolve, it’s an anthem for those who resurrect futures from the pyres of lies.
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Lyrics:

Our bloodline’s a clenched fist—syllables in our sweat,
They sold us the rope, now we’re knotting the net.
The lie’s architecture cracks under our tread,
A choir of the scarred resurrecting the dead.

They baptized the bullets in sermons of fear,
Pitched division as gospel to deafen our ears.
We worshipped the wound till the scab formed a shield,
Palmed the grenade of their “peace”, refused to yield.
Their data-feed prophets preach panic as creed,
But our spine’s an archive no algorithm can read.
We’re fossils of futures they tried to erase,
Martyrs minus the tombs, rewriting our case.

Our bloodline’s a clenched fist—verbs in our breath,
They sold us the rope, now we’re threading the depth.
The lie’s scaffolding bends under our sweat,
A choir of the scarred lighting pyres for the next.

The trap’s a prism—they refract us to hues,
Turn kin into rivals in pixelated ruse.
We unplugged the feud, let the static decay,
Now the silence screams louder than hate’s marketplace.
Their “saviors” wear nooses disguised as a cure,
We drained their charisma, let truth hemorrhage pure.
No more borrowed prisons, no stockholm in our veins,
The cell was a mirror—we shattered the frame.

Compromise? Nah—kinetics in motion,
Each scar’s a compass, each grief an oath sworn.
They mummified progress, called history “grown”,
We’re surgeons of legacy digging up the unknown.

Our bloodline’s a clenched fist—grammar in flame,
They sold us the rope, now it’s our pulley to claim.
The lie’s citadel drowns in our names,
A choir of the scarred… forever the same.

Ain’t no allies—just synapses aligned,
The arithmetic of the oppressed don’t lie.
We the decimal they couldn’t round down,
The sum of the unheard… now the whole damn sound.