The Ancient Wisdom Of Lost Generations

by corretja

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1.
It’s time to accept our fate, that this epoch’s end will be by our own hands. We will have to start anew, searching for our answers searching for our truth. Guided by the voices that speak of our past. Looking to the stars to uncover old paths. Guided by the voices that speak of our past. Looking to the stars to uncover old paths. We are nothing but the legacy we leave behind. Even that will be destroyed by the sands of time. We can leave our fingerprints, we can build our monuments. They will all return to dust, again and again. We can leave our fingerprints, we can build our monuments. They will all return to dust, again and again. Out of this dust our spirits arise. Out of this dust ingenuity, arise. Out of this dust our knowledge will arise. Out of this dust come the tools of our demise.
2.
After being muted for, four thousand years, the groan of the capstan sings the message clear. Once dying and dormant, flooded out by fate, the stars lead our way. Home to the voices that sing of our past. Home to our memories, that did not last. Hijacked by history, their voices finally heard. Orion hunts again, undoing truths that blurred. Memories awaken, we can (finally) understand. Osiris seeds new life into long dead lands. The alignment of dead stars, brighten the cromlech’s peak. The groan of the capstan sings of their stellar destiny. Open your mouth, and your soul. Take your place amongst the stars. No longer a species who are lost, ancestors speak to us through the stars. We will learn it all again, the ancient wisdom of lost generations. Now is the time, to open our eyes. The religion of the dead, terrestrial maps lighting our way beyond. Now is the time, to open our eyes. The religion of the dead, terrestrial maps lighting our way beyond. No longer a species who are lost, ancestors speak to us through the stars. We will learn it all again, the ancient wisdom of lost generations. Hijacked by history, their voices finally heard. Orion hunts again, undoing truths that blurred. Memories awaken, we finally understand. Osiris seeds new life into long dead lands.
3.
Intellectual barbarians have a stranglehold, controlling the flow of information, making sure archeologists do what they are told. The ministry of state for antiquities are purveyors of the most convenient lies. What is truth, and what is real as seen through (their own) self-mutilated eyes. They were Not gods, not Giants Not gods, no Just Men Not gods, not giants. Just men. In the name of their conservation, Egyptologist regulation fears intelligence. Engineering is denied, mathematics are denied, internal ramps are denied out of fear. They were Not gods, they were not Giants. Just Men! Not gods, not Giants. Just Men. Western denialists will continue to steal your history; rescind, reallocate, and undermine your agency. Theory intended to obfuscate amazing achievements and justify intolerance. Using Pseudo-archeology as a stalking horse to destroy the existence of non-white intellect. They were not gods, they were not giants. No ancient astronauts! Not gods, not giants. Just men. Erich von Daniken is raping and eradicating, the culture of an entire civilization. Chariots of the Gods, claiming unsolved mysteries, destroying ancient history for the sake of a meme.
4.
I have laid down for myself this sunshine Of yours as a stairway under my feet May the sky make the sunlight May the sunlight be strong for you, May you rise up to the sky May the face of the king be opened so that he may see the horizon When he crosses the sky; may he cause the king to shine As a god, given the beautiful horizon The reed-floats of the sky are set in place for me As I am ferried over the eastern sky I am a flame before the wind The king’s bones are iron And the king’s limbs are the imperishable stars I am pure, raise yourself upon your iron bones And golden members, for this body of yours Belongs to the heavens. May your flesh be more Than the life of the star to which you are born. I have laid down for myself this sunshine Of yours as a stairway under my feet. May the sky make the sunlight strong for you. May the face of the king be opened So that you rise up to the sky and you might see the horizon. This tomb is the womb of a sky goddess, I am reborn a star, betake yourself to it, Do not be far from it, I am reborn a star
5.
Hidden beneath Saqquaran sands, a labyrinthian expanse, stands a mute testimony to ancient ingenuity We know how they did this, we have all the tools they used and if it was advanced machining where is the record. We know who built this, look at the hieroglyphics clumsily scratched into the flawless polished surface. We will defend our timeline What you call sarcophagi, not hewn, not polished the way you describe. The dates and owners carved in relief, crude, unpolished, hints at deceit. Assymetric with excised structural flaws, functional features belie ceremonial cause. Your disinterest in how it was done at best negligent and at worst a deception. Inheritance is heresy, anathema to your belief, you forget how tenuous was the knowledge they attained, earned in millenia, in a generation gone. Only whispers hewn into granite remain, buried for ages, unearthed and lost Rising tide erased the work of generations. Someday all we have done will become... Megaliths at rest in niches sit in defiance our belief that copper, sand, time and sweat were all that they would have needed We know how they moved them we have all the tools and if not a wooden sledge, our narrative is wrecked. We know who built this look at the hieroglyphics the dynastic egyptians were incapable of deceit True, they could move many tons underneath the sun but the subterannean halls limit manpower. Inheritance is heresy, anathema to your belief. You forget how delicate is our knowledge retained. Built over ages, in a flash gone. A mute testament, all that remains buried for ages, unearthed and lost Light fades shadows reign with the setting sun. Someday all we have done will become ancient wisdom of lost generations
6.
We stand before the masters. We stand before those who witnessed the creation. We stand on the precipice. Staring into the abyss, in the shadow of the megalith, humbled by our ignorance and those who know the history of the dead. Stories told by the faceless, before the dawn of written time. Rich with culture and tradition, complex societies denied. Civilizations reduced to rubble, ash blown on turbulent winds. Man looks upon his creation, having reached its pinnacle. On top of the world she has the best view of its collapse. Civilization, order, edification reduced to chaos and left in ruins. Orchards slashed, cities gone, fall of babylon, by the hands of man. Marduk remains, reminding us of regeneration. All things must pass. All things will pass. On top of the world, man has the best view of its collapse. They gave their lives, for the glory of the empire, their remains buried in the shadow of the megalith. The apex of our creation, wiped away without a trace. With no humility nor diffidence, our fingerprints are wiped off the face of the earth. The knowledge we gain, from where they stand, the living will envy the dead.
7.
In the eastern roman empire from the desert rose the spires of a massive temple complex that marked a culture’s apex. Hear the capstan's groan as the megaliths grind the stones where Baal was blessed, a site shrouded by civil unrest. But can the romans claim Bacchus’ colonnade, and Jupiter’s hall, did they build the retaining wall? An age past their fall their platform, strong and tall waits for, another to stand upon THE TRILITHON Waiting, watching humanity remember itself. When time was ripe they recognized the stones were not placed by the gods. Waiting, watching, reminding, culture awakens, finding a record of its genius standing. Humanity rises again upon THE TRILITHON BaalBek! Long before the Romans came of age an ancient platform was raised to hold the oracle's steps where Trajan learned of his imminent death The genius of the ancient hands that quarried the blocks for the ages stands. The record that the stones encase not time nor barbarism can erase. The knowledge that the ancients had was preserved here for all to find again. Cast off the dark of night, civilization lights and begins again to stand upon THE TRILITHON Abandoned, forgotten, cloaked in the mists of time. What we achieve so easily retreats below the sands and is lost. We reached the dizzying heights but stood on the shoulders of giants. Roman temples touched the skies, still the lowest walls were finer. Giant blocks raised on high, placed upon cyclopean grandeur. Dwarfed by the stones below, so much the ancients had known Knowledge from outer space, a bigoted insult to the genius of our race. Same size and same date, ashlars of Herod are known terrestrially placed. To fill the master course capstans and large cranes could provide sufficient force. Written in stone, a pinnacle for the future to behold. We stand upon THE TRILITHON When all is washed away again we start anew. It awaits the day we can recall the truth. Waves crest and crash, and so too shall we. The apex of the past exceeds our apogee. To guide us back to where we belong, it waits beneath our feet THE TRILITHON
8.
. 00:31

about

seven tracks of progressive and melodic death metal, that clock in at just under thirty-eight minutes. Songs which sing the praises of human ingenuity and perseverance.
Soon to be available on a limited edition cassette

credits

released November 12, 2021

All music and instruments by BGL and Sam Justice
Vocals by MS
Backing Vocals by Sam Justice
Lyrics by MS and BGL

Mixed and mastered by Damian Herring at Subterranean Watchtower.
Cover art and logo by Rusted Winds/Lucas V.
Saw, on The Trilithon, played by Justin Lucas
Vocal recordings and unwavering support from Robert Shields

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Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.

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corretja New York, New York

Corretja turns a harsh lens on history's heroes and egyptologists, through brutal progressive melo-death.

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