Black Urn (demo)

by Black Urn

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    4-panel gatefold wallet CD's with an 8-page booklet
    Layout by Ivan Meshkov

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written by Black Urn:

drums - Tim Lewis
bass - Alex Onderdonk
vocals - John Jones
guitar/vocals - Ryan Manley
guitar - Jordan Pierce


released June 9, 2015

Recorded Spring 2015 at Black Beacon Sound by Austin Haines
Mixed & Mastered by Austin Haines

design by Ivan Meshkov

"Almost 30 minutes of blackened sludge metal encrusted with Doom, Blues and a splattering of Grind... Black Urn have created a stunning, dark and depressing EP..." - The Sludgelord

"Six tracks of slow moving Black Sabbath and Cathedral grade oppressive haziness, as well as the random grinding fit. Songs ranging over twelve minutes, right down to less than thirty seconds, Black Urn is designed to tear your face off and make you trudge the depths to find it once more." - Apochs Metal Review

"Imagine angry zombies crawling off their graves dancing to the slowest Sabbathian and Vitus-like riff worship, serves hacking and slashing interludes as well – gory sludge/doom-core – great!"
- Doom Metal Front

'Black Urn' lyric video:



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Black Urn Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

5-piece doom/sludge band based in Philly.

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Track Name: Teat of the Baphomet
The matriphageous youth emerge from salted soil.
Earth that drones, glows, and heaves.
Your umbilical chord’s a shackle. Your umbilical chord’s a noose.
Faustian lust results in splinters in autopsy of Jepedo.
I’ve suckled the sour milk of the I.V. and slept through acid winters
in the name of innovation and greed.

I negate the I, as the world negates me.
Liquid Icarus bubbling in bliss.
I negate the I, and the world negates me.
Liquid Icarus bubbling in bliss.
I negate the I, so the world negates me.
Liquid Icarus bubbling in bliss.

When fluid left post-scrub merges with helix,
Nephilim exit the forest adorned in placental hide.
Golden vat calf, kill me. I’m lodged between Saturn’s teeth.
Out Zeus’s bleeding skull towards Luciferian thrones,
brooding eyeless, chirping chestbursters.

Crawling to your tomb, jackal corpse.
The cold warmth of your womb, jackal corpse.
Track Name: Four Cornered Room
24 darkest-hour cycles
I’ll goad the world to jump first
Amnesia is my panacea, and I’ll drink it til I’m blind.
Track Name: Black Urn
The future holds a smoldering
dead Earth raped & forsaken
by its bastard children; a charred,
cosmic totem of human failure.

The torrential flow
of pissing it all away.
A celestial black urn.
Track Name: Empty Handed Lord
Bandage and gauze your cancer
Dried leaves fill my bedroom
Carving your grapefruit skull
Piggy bank your empty soul
The Ides are not in the grace of your fucking favor.

These kids have no one to talk to.
An unfading carrot-on-a-stick complex.
Unveil my scars to thunderous laughter.
I’d chew a handful of cyanide pills and vomit
them in your mouth like you were my young
if it meant dragging you to hell with me.
Hoisted. Skewered.
Track Name: Taxidermis
I eroticize the forfeiting of self-control
titan spine buckles, Eloheim atoms scatter
rats crawl out of sockets like flies to the den of the glutton
watch as I steal eggs from the dragon’s nest.
Fruit juice on a young child’s mouth
to smeared lipstick on a weary harlot.
Gasoline baptism, alley messiah rises.

Staggering drunk down the path of righteousness.
Chains on the ivory, vined gates of Eden.

Crippled by animalistic indifference
anabolic misery

Stove gropers born of devout needlestack bale grazers
Bloodletting cucumber mask

A piñata on the gallow’s pole
fast the mind or kick stool to ruination
Medicine man blows his smoke
Elephant hand grip’s my throat

Mr. Sandman, triple your dosage like cancer
and relinquish what fucking constraints bind me,


Splash blood on my door.
Track Name: Spore Huffer
Fungi of the mountain drops from the palm of the shaman
Bones beating drums, ancestral fire dance around us
Drawn to the eye, you’re blinded by the shine of sin
Pray shrills like Baykok, as we bask in oroborus revenge

There’s not much going on
from the wormhole out rolls the spawn
Chupacabra in the field of the shepard’s sheep
Bats stampede out Red Foot’s teeth

Cauldron brew with pulpy grinds of imps
Black wizard smoke will get you high as shit
Stone hand of doom fingers with zero love
Leda sprays all over Magwai cubs

My extinction will pass a curse
as the wind carries my final breath
like a pollen spore of pestilence.