From His Face Sprouted the Beak

from We've Come For Your Flesh by Burial Grid

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Digital Track
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Peter Bark T-shirt
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Burial Grid t-shirt design A on black Gildan-style tees. B&W design.

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Extreme limited edition cassette
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-Super Ferro high grade tape

-Red tinted, yellow leader cassettes

-Retro Warner Brothers classic design

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Includes unlimited streaming of We've Come For Your Flesh via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

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lyrics

Three-thousand eight-hundred sixty-nine weeks down.
Only one more to go
Save your bedside breath for the battleaxe and for the plough
They tell me my ears will be the last thing to go
But they slid from my head into space so many years ago
On week one-thousand six-hundred and four
I carried you past a crabshell-laced ocean floor
Their chitin shattered windshields
Battered my feet like chemotherapy
The next time you see me it will be my first week
The next time you hear me I’ll be a grosbeak
My threnody to blot out the dawn jay when she sings
Please don’t wretch as my bones hollow out into wings