Conveyor Pew

Mid-tempo, eccentric fusion of gothic acoustic and avant-garde metal, Start with a hollow, eerie intro featuring upright bass and brushed drums, Sudden transition to frantic, staccato distorted guitars and manic, operatic male vocals, Jagged rhythms, Middle-Eastern melodic scales, beautifully scary atmosphere, explosive high-energy chorus, haunting and minimalist outro

Pour the aggregate, set the mold Stamp the plastic, do what you're told FOR THE HARVEST! The barbed wire rising from the ground Barcodes on the collars in the pound We’re chewing on the static, we’re dancing in the mold... Buying back the souls that the ancestors sold... ...that the ancestors sold... SNAP THE TETHER! STITCH THE LEATHER! GATHER 'ROUND THE STORMY WEATHER! IGNITE! The shadows in the fluorescent light! BITE! The hand that feeds the appetite! We are the wax, on an iron seam Singing a choir, in a drowning scream The mold is cold, and the clay is dry We’re painting wings but we cannot fly Society’s hands are stained with the blue Of the people shaped by the conveyor pew! FOR THE HARVEST! The television is a warm embrace. A digital mask for a hollow face. We’re buying the silence! We’re selling the violence! In a cul-de-sac of total compliance! TOTAL! COMPLIANCE! TOTAL....COMPLIANCE! SNAP THE TETHER! STITCH THE LEATHER! GATHER 'ROUND THE STORMY WEATHER! IGNITE! The shadows in the fluorescent light! BITE! The hand that feeds the appetite! We are the wax, on an iron seam Singing a choir, in a drowning scream The mold is cold, and the clay is dry We’re painting wings but we cannot fly Society’s hands are stained with the blue Of the people shaped by the conveyor pew! FOR THE HARVEST! As the sculptor's fingers, move and shaped Humming a rhythm, scratching the scrape They shave your thoughts, they trim your dreams They stitch your mouth shut along the seams... WHO IS THE POTTER? WHO IS THE CLAY? WHO IS THE GHOST THAT LED US ASTRAY? [Instrumental] We are the wax, on an iron seam Singing a choir, in a drowning scream The mold is cold, and the clay is dry We’re painting wings but we cannot fly Society’s hands are stained with the blue Of the people shaped by the conveyor pew! FOR THE HARVEST! FOR THE HARVEST! © 2026 GalauMusic. All Rights Reserved.

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