This song is so based... i love how it talks about feelingb helpless and not knowing what the next move is, i love the idea of live (or whatever situation) being compared to a slaughterhouse. Not only does this song have great nuances but it has... 

In The Court Of The Dragon

The Shadow Of The Abattoir

A Crisis Of Revelation

No Way Back Just Through

Fall Into Your Hands

The Great Ritual

Alpha PVP on the tongue, blue-cold truth.
Ten minutes of sky in a life built roof to roof.
They call it madness; I hear a buried scream—
pressure valves opening where the seams should’ve been.


I’m past polite; their bleach can’t hide the stain.
Tie-tight hands keep tugging at our veins.
“Order,” they say—while neighbors pawn their coats;
letters stack, pharmacy says no.
We used to guard each other; now we audit pain.
Good deeds get taxed; cruelty gets a raise.
At dinner we plead our case like court—
even family won’t hold the fort.


Show me the face behind the ledger.
If help is broke, who broke the measure?


Anarchy over order.
Take from the vaults—leave the loaves.


We built the tools to fix the mess,
but money hugs the panic button, says “not yet.”
So poison gets pumped from under the town,
trees go missing, lungs bow down.
Tech could buy us hours with our kids again—
pinball bells, arcade light, friends that stay.
Instead, halls close; cheap highs flood in.
Cells stay full. Who pays? Not them.


Gravel air, courthouse grin.
Briefcase choir blessing sin.
My record fades to gray on screens;
I push the door—elastic means.
Call it a system, I call it a drain:
thumb on the plate, permanent stain.
I’m not your wage in velvet chain—
I hone my will till it cuts that frame.


Anarchy over order.
Better thieves in the street than halos in a rigged machine.


Alpha PVP: not escape—translation.
Euphoria in ruins, grief into information.


Why hire guards to shame the broke?
Why pay for cages, not the cure that works?
We make the sick sicker, then bill their tears;
the “safety net” is holes and gears.
Everyone knows the gap’s designed,
we call it weather to keep in line.
They want our bodies without our minds—
march straight, let the soul resign.


Quiet, then flash—the thread runs hot.
Bags by the door, the transit says “not.”
Palm-muted chug, tight hats bite;
they ship the gold; we hold the night.
Numbers cooked while the block eats crumbs;
boardroom claps as another debt comes.
If money must move, reach for the hoard—
not the pocket already floored.


Pay us for lifting each other.
Reward the hands that carry a brother.
Mask off the law—name every hand.
If justice wears brands, unbrand the brand.


Cut - wires - not - veins.
Crowd - stands - out - of - chains.
Tax - vaults - not - bread.
Feed - life - not - the - dead.
Alpha - PVP - flash - sign.
Pain - leaks - out - the - spine.
Wake - now - tear - the - tape.
Name - power - stop - the - rape.


Anarchy over order.
Take cash from the towers—leave the poor their bread.


If I walk alone, I’ll still refuse the leash.
I won’t die for their throne; I’ll live for release.
When history asks who cracked the chain, let it read:
not the hungry—call out the creed.

CREDITS:
Lyrics & composition: Mårten “MAROL” Olofsson
Vocals/arrangement direction: MAROL
Artwork: MAROL

The Shadow Of The Abattoir

TriviumOfficial

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