Song origin: 

Sir Black’s face went mik-pale as he exited his time machine into a new dimension. 
“Why is this time machine broken and sending me to other dimensions?” he asked, scratching his head.
A dismember voice from a dark hall creeped in saying, “Yeeowser, sur! We thinks youssa torn between Earths.”
Sir Black spun a circle. “Who said that?”
“Tee Hee. Tee Hee…” replied the same incourprial voice.
Sir Black’s breaths quickened and his voice shook. “Who are you? Show yourself.”
“I am a splinter. A shadow on the wall. The dark abysmal shadow swarming from the hall.” the creeping voice said.
“I have a knife,” Sir Black warned.
“Oh, sweet little girl, I can not save you from your pain. Bear me no ill will for I cannot save me just the same. Ooowee! I says, I cane not… no sur-reee I cane not save yuhhhhs!”
Sir Black’s brow furrowed. “Who are you calling a little girl? I'm a grown ass man, my good sir.”
“Whhaaaahhhhtttt?” howled the voice. “No. no. no. Not again. Bleak nightmares! An ode to something I once adored.”
“Haunted voice of this torn between Earths, you be too vague and nebulous.” Sir Black said.
“Bleak nightmares,” the voice said again. “An ode to something I held before.”
“Tell me please, who are you?” Sir Black begged with folded hands.
“Oh, yousa want our name sur? Yousa want to know? Foul intrusion of meat and blood and other moistness wants our name?” the agitated voice asked. “I am nightmare Governor Urth.”
“Stay away. This is the last knife!” Sir Black replied. 
“Wait. Did you say the ‘last’ knife?” the voice asked.
“I did.”
“Eeeek!” The fleeing voice trailed down the hall. As it faded, a clank of tin smacked upon the floor. It rattled to a soft silence. Sir Black walked to the shiny round object and held it to the dim light. Upon it read, master reel of Blackurth the imfamous industrial metal band's, You Creep In.
Sir Black rushed to his time machine and quickly disappeared. 

Song lyrics: 

You creep in blood-shot eyes.
You creep in, but this is the last knife.
You creep in slither slide.
You creep in, but this is the last knife.
Splinter is the shadow crawling on the walls.
The dark abysmal shadow’s swarming from the halls.
Sweet little girl, I cannot save you from your pain.
Bear me no ill will, for I can’t save me just the same.
Sweet little girl, I cannot save you from your pain.
Promise me that you will not save me from my pain.
Bleak nightmares. An ode to something I once adored.
Bleak nightmares. An ode to something I held before.

You creep In

Megalomaniac (KMFDM Cover)

??? Water sounds

Menagerie

We cry in the Blackurth

An oblivious void

My beloved dead

Only in your dreams

Candy surprise

Dead soldiers

Our debut album, Torn Between Earths, is now live!

#gothicrock #industrialrock #gothicpsychodelic 

Download for free here: https://blackurth.bandcamp.com/releases 

The band Blackurth is a songwriting duo of Sir. Black, and Governor Urth. However, the band is really just a combination of tragedy, desperation and time travel. This album, Torn Between Earths, was planned when the no talent hack, Sir. Black woke up homeless at home in his bed.
At the age of 247, Sir. Black realized how fast life had gone by. While combing his teeth and brushing his hair, the idea of putting an album out crossed his mind. Six hours, and six minutes, and six maniacal laughs later, Sir. Black entered his dollhouse garage and turned on his time machine. 
The voices claim his last words were, “Piss off, you twattleing cucks. I’m going to an alternate dimension to kill my younger self.”
The voices asked, “Why, Sir. Black?”
“I won’t tell you,” he yelled. “It is so that I could steal my own songs and become rich and famous. Damn, I said too much.”
Sir. Black spent six hours, and six minutes, and six hysterical cries, before zapping himself into another timeline.
Meanwhile, Governor Urth returned home from a big concert with multiple girls tearing off his clothes. He shoved them aside screaming, “Be gone soft ones! Why can't I live a normal life like everybody else? Why must I be trapped in my own fame?”
As he slept, he heard the voices saying unto him, “M’lord Governor, if you want freedom from soft ones you must go back and kill your younger self. But be warned. You must not kill yourself. Just kill Sir. Black, I guess. For he will become famous and you will be homeless at home. Steal Sir. Black’s songs and release them next to yours. Call it, Torn Between Earths.” 
The voices faded, laughing like a funeral full of grade school girls….

Blackurth

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