Parish of the End (An Ankou)

symphonic deathcore, thall, industrial deathcore

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CUSTOM

**[Intro]** (The sound of a slow, rhythmic grinding—wood against dry bone. A low, distorted cello plays a dissonant, weeping melody. Atmospheric wind-noise that sounds like a collective sigh.)

[Spoken Word]  
Parish of the End.  
The sun set on the 31st of December, and I was the only one left in the dirt.  
The seat is cold.  
The reins are made of hair.  
I am the last to die, so I am the first to drive.

**[Verse 1]** (Sudden explosion of Thall riffs. Chaotic, syncopated stops)  
Tall. Skeletal.  
The wide-brimmed shadow erases my face.  
I inherited the cart—the *Karrig an Ankou*.  
It doesn't roll; it screams across the granite.  
(Pick Scrape)  
I am not the Reaper. I am the Year's Servant.  
The last pulse of the village became my crown of thorns.  
The horses are starving, but they only eat the silence.

**[Pre-Chorus]** (Building tension. Manic vocal layering. Speeding up vocal delivery)  
Do you hear the axle?  
(High-pitched whistle scream)  
It’s the sound of a thousand joints snapping!  
I am coming for the harvest.  
I am coming for the debt.  
If the wheel stops at your door, the sun is a liar!

**[Chorus]** (Wall of sound. Operatic, agonizing screams)  
Creak! (Stop)  
The wood is drinking the spirit!  
I am the Ankou, the ghost of the year!  
Carrying the weight of the parish in the dark.  
No heaven, no hell—just the endless road.  
I am the driver of the hollow bone!

**[Verse 2]** (Glitchy, heavier, breaking the rhythm. Pitch-shifted gutturals)  
Yesterday I was a husband.  
Now I am a mechanism.  
A rhythmic ticking in the fog.  
(Manic Laughter)  
I see you through the cracks in the floorboards.  
The cart is never full enough.  
The horses have no skin, yet they feel the whip of time.  
One more. Just one more to take my place.  
Die at the stroke of twelve—I dare you.

**[Bridge]** (The "Dir En Grey" moment: Eerie silence, whispers, or acapella screaming)  
[Whispers]  
*Don’t look at the cart.* *Don’t listen to the wheel.* [Screamed]  
MY HANDS ARE WOOD!  
MY EYES ARE VOID!  
(Sound of heavy chains rattling and a slow, deep thud)  
I am the collector.  
I am the janitor of the graveyard.

**[Breakdown]** (Extremely slow, crushing pitch-shifted breakdown. The tempo drops to a crawl)  
(Deep Guttural)  
THE YEAR IS OVER.  
(Pitch Shift Down)  
THE CART IS HERE.  
(Total Silence for 0.5 seconds)  
YUGH!  
(Violent, dissonant breakdown)  
BRITTANY BLEEDS UNDER MY WHEELS!  
BONE ON WOOD!  
SOUL ON IRON!  
YOU ARE THE LUGGAGE OF THE DEAD!

**[Outro]** (Fading into digital static and the distant, fading sound of the wooden creak)  
[Spoken Word]  
The moon is pale today.  
I think I recognize your face.  
Lie down.  
The cart is waiting.  
(The creaking sound stops abruptly)

[End]

2752/7500

**[Intro]** (The sound of a slow, rhythmic grinding—wood against dry bone. A low, distorted cello plays a dissonant, weeping melody. Atmospheric wind-noise that sounds like a collective sigh.) [Spoken Word] Parish of the End. The sun set on the 31st of December, and I was the only one left in the dirt. The seat is cold. The reins are made of hair. I am the last to die, so I am the first to drive. **[Verse 1]** (Sudden explosion of Thall riffs. Chaotic, syncopated stops) Tall. Skeletal. The wide-brimmed shadow erases my face. I inherited the cart—the *Karrig an Ankou*. It doesn't roll; it screams across the granite. (Pick Scrape) I am not the Reaper. I am the Year's Servant. The last pulse of the village became my crown of thorns. The horses are starving, but they only eat the silence. **[Pre-Chorus]** (Building tension. Manic vocal layering. Speeding up vocal delivery) Do you hear the axle? (High-pitched whistle scream) It’s the sound of a thousand joints snapping! I am coming for the harvest. I am coming for the debt. If the wheel stops at your door, the sun is a liar! **[Chorus]** (Wall of sound. Operatic, agonizing screams) Creak! (Stop) The wood is drinking the spirit! I am the Ankou, the ghost of the year! Carrying the weight of the parish in the dark. No heaven, no hell—just the endless road. I am the driver of the hollow bone! **[Verse 2]** (Glitchy, heavier, breaking the rhythm. Pitch-shifted gutturals) Yesterday I was a husband. Now I am a mechanism. A rhythmic ticking in the fog. (Manic Laughter) I see you through the cracks in the floorboards. The cart is never full enough. The horses have no skin, yet they feel the whip of time. One more. Just one more to take my place. Die at the stroke of twelve—I dare you. **[Bridge]** (The "Dir En Grey" moment: Eerie silence, whispers, or acapella screaming) [Whispers] *Don’t look at the cart.* *Don’t listen to the wheel.* [Screamed] MY HANDS ARE WOOD! MY EYES ARE VOID! (Sound of heavy chains rattling and a slow, deep thud) I am the collector. I am the janitor of the graveyard. **[Breakdown]** (Extremely slow, crushing pitch-shifted breakdown. The tempo drops to a crawl) (Deep Guttural) THE YEAR IS OVER. (Pitch Shift Down) THE CART IS HERE. (Total Silence for 0.5 seconds) YUGH! (Violent, dissonant breakdown) BRITTANY BLEEDS UNDER MY WHEELS! BONE ON WOOD! SOUL ON IRON! YOU ARE THE LUGGAGE OF THE DEAD! **[Outro]** (Fading into digital static and the distant, fading sound of the wooden creak) [Spoken Word] The moon is pale today. I think I recognize your face. Lie down. The cart is waiting. (The creaking sound stops abruptly) [End]

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