Feast of Filth (The Gravy Train Blues)

symphonic metal, psychedelic rock, blues rock, soul blues

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(Style Note: Designed for a raw, guttural vocal delivery, heavy blues-rock instrumentation, and driving, slightly distorted power chords, especially in the chorus and bridge.)

(Intro – Slow, distorted guitar riff, sounding weary and drunk. Drums enter with a slow, heavy march.)

(Vocal – Deep, gravelly, almost spoken)
Honey, the clock outside is stuck at half-past cold.
Another year, another story, gettin' damn old.
The fog is thick enough to drown a preacher man,
And the kitchen smells like pressure, and cheap holiday plan.

Verse 1

Yeah, the doorbell’s ringin’, got ‘em stacked up like cord wood,
Smiling wide and tellin’ me I look so good.
But I can taste the venom in the sweetness of the wine,
Trying to chase the feeling that this whole damn thing ain’t mine.
They got the good china out, they got the linens pressed,
But I’m seeing through the fabric, baby, I ain't impressed.
I got a fifth of firewater hid beneath my coat,
‘Cause Thanksgiving spirit just catches in my throat.

Pre-Chorus

They say, “Bow your head now, give thanks for the yield,”
But all I got is a battlefield.
Yeah, all I got is the echoes and the drone—
I wanna burn the damn house down and be left alone!

Chorus

Oh, I ain’t thankful for nothin’ but the cheap smoke in my hand,
This ain’t no season of givin’, it’s just a goddamn command!
I wanna kick this table over, watch the gravy splash the wall!
Yeah, it’s the Feast of Filth, and I don’t feel shit at all!
(Guitar hit)
Shit at all, baby!

Verse 2

They carve that dry-ass turkey like it owes ‘em money,
Talking ‘bout success, and why I ain’t got no honey.
Auntie Sue is whispering lies about the shoes I wear,
While Grandma’s crying into the yams ‘cause nobody cares.
They hold hands, they bless the bounty, they thank the Lord for grace,
But their eyes are scanning judgments all around the place.
We’re just shovelin’ down the sadness, smothered thick in lies,
A parade of phony smiles reflecting in our eyes.

Pre-Chorus

They say, “Hold your tongue now, don’t you make a scene,”
But I’m buzzin’ like a junkie, dirty and obscene.
Yeah, the plastic comfort is driving me insane—
Gimme the truth, baby! Gimme the pouring rain!

Chorus

Bridge

(Music drops out slightly, then hits with a powerful, heavy, Battle Beast-style riff—slow, crushing, and definitive.)
You can keep your pilgrim bullshit story!
I got my own damn ghosts and my rough glory!
I don’t need your blessing, I don’t need your grace,
I just need to climb out of this forgotten, hopeless place!
(BUILDING VOLUME)
Yeah, I could use a drink! I could use a fight!
I could use a key, ’cause I wanna leave tonight!

FUCK YOUR CRANBERRY SAUCE, GET OUTTA MY FACE!
(Hard instrumental break – short, sharp, and loud power riff)

Guitar Solo

(Fast, chaotic blues-rock solo with heavy vibrato and wah pedal, mimicking a passionate, drunken breakdown.)

Outro Chorus / Fade

Oh, I ain’t thankful for nothin’ but the whiskey in my gut!
(Bass drum emphasis)
No, this ain’t gratitude, baby, this is just a rut!
I wanna kick the table over, let the whole damn structure fall!
Yeah, it’s the Feast of Filth, and I don't feel SHIT at all!
I don't feel SHIT!
(Repeat and Wring out)
Shit at all! Oh, the gravy train is broken down, baby!
(Fade out with vocal ad-libs and diminishing heavy guitar feedback)

3599/7500

(Style Note: Designed for a raw, guttural vocal delivery, heavy blues-rock instrumentation, and driving, slightly distorted power chords, especially in the chorus and bridge.) (Intro – Slow, distorted guitar riff, sounding weary and drunk. Drums enter with a slow, heavy march.) (Vocal – Deep, gravelly, almost spoken) Honey, the clock outside is stuck at half-past cold. Another year, another story, gettin' damn old. The fog is thick enough to drown a preacher man, And the kitchen smells like pressure, and cheap holiday plan. Verse 1 Yeah, the doorbell’s ringin’, got ‘em stacked up like cord wood, Smiling wide and tellin’ me I look so good. But I can taste the venom in the sweetness of the wine, Trying to chase the feeling that this whole damn thing ain’t mine. They got the good china out, they got the linens pressed, But I’m seeing through the fabric, baby, I ain't impressed. I got a fifth of firewater hid beneath my coat, ‘Cause Thanksgiving spirit just catches in my throat. Pre-Chorus They say, “Bow your head now, give thanks for the yield,” But all I got is a battlefield. Yeah, all I got is the echoes and the drone— I wanna burn the damn house down and be left alone! Chorus Oh, I ain’t thankful for nothin’ but the cheap smoke in my hand, This ain’t no season of givin’, it’s just a goddamn command! I wanna kick this table over, watch the gravy splash the wall! Yeah, it’s the Feast of Filth, and I don’t feel shit at all! (Guitar hit) Shit at all, baby! Verse 2 They carve that dry-ass turkey like it owes ‘em money, Talking ‘bout success, and why I ain’t got no honey. Auntie Sue is whispering lies about the shoes I wear, While Grandma’s crying into the yams ‘cause nobody cares. They hold hands, they bless the bounty, they thank the Lord for grace, But their eyes are scanning judgments all around the place. We’re just shovelin’ down the sadness, smothered thick in lies, A parade of phony smiles reflecting in our eyes. Pre-Chorus They say, “Hold your tongue now, don’t you make a scene,” But I’m buzzin’ like a junkie, dirty and obscene. Yeah, the plastic comfort is driving me insane— Gimme the truth, baby! Gimme the pouring rain! Chorus Oh, I ain’t thankful for nothin’ but the cheap smoke in my hand, This ain’t no season of givin’, it’s just a goddamn command! I wanna kick this table over, watch the gravy splash the wall! Yeah, it’s the Feast of Filth, and I don’t feel shit at all! (Scream/Wail) I don’t feel SHIT! Bridge (Music drops out slightly, then hits with a powerful, heavy, Battle Beast-style riff—slow, crushing, and definitive.) You can keep your pilgrim bullshit story! I got my own damn ghosts and my rough glory! I don’t need your blessing, I don’t need your grace, I just need to climb out of this forgotten, hopeless place! (BUILDING VOLUME) Yeah, I could use a drink! I could use a fight! I could use a key, ’cause I wanna leave tonight! FUCK YOUR CRANBERRY SAUCE, GET OUTTA MY FACE! (Hard instrumental break – short, sharp, and loud power riff) Guitar Solo (Fast, chaotic blues-rock solo with heavy vibrato and wah pedal, mimicking a passionate, drunken breakdown.) Outro Chorus / Fade Oh, I ain’t thankful for nothin’ but the whiskey in my gut! (Bass drum emphasis) No, this ain’t gratitude, baby, this is just a rut! I wanna kick the table over, let the whole damn structure fall! Yeah, it’s the Feast of Filth, and I don't feel SHIT at all! I don't feel SHIT! (Repeat and Wring out) Shit at all! Oh, the gravy train is broken down, baby! (Fade out with vocal ad-libs and diminishing heavy guitar feedback)

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