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The Comedy of Forms, The Tragedy of Function

by Goblin Hovel

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MorKroM
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MorKroM ...in this mystical forest there stands an old , moss covered Goblin Hovel ... and from within , beautiful and strange music is sounding through the trees ... i hope it never disappears and keeps standing there for all eternity .... Favorite track: Rootchewer.
Jeremy
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Jeremy There is really nothing like Goblin Hovel. Another great work in their mystical journey in music! Favorite track: Horrors Of The Library.
Tyme
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Tyme If you haven't heard Goblin Hovel yet it doesn't matter what I have to say about this album.

Your life is worthless........

Make it less so. NOW!
Deidre House
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Deidre House I have since moved on, but my memories of contributing to Goblin Hovel are among my most cherished. My dear friends, please never stop making this weird, wonderful music. Favorite track: Rootchewer.
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1.
No tale could prepare the trespasser For waking up outside his skin No lanterns, no whispers, No coach and horses to deliver him . . . No one will miss the wanderer For to all eyes he shall return A brazen mask for a captive crowd Deceived at every turn For one such purpose unknown Outside the hidden circles of stone This town has never seen my true face Perhaps that is why they fear me so . . . Seen vaguely as another face Unassuming oh so forgettable Fits perfectly the traitor’s role . . . Come, would I ever let you see All the things that I was supposed to be I shall place one of my masks upon your face . . . It is easy to tell the whole truth To an enemy who cannot fathom true They will not attempt to catch him out Even when he wants them to. Shift, Swap, swindle and stare What we are I do not know or care I shall let my portrait show In a trick of the light an impenetrable halo I shall place one of my masks upon your face . . . Humanity is a comedy of forms That all become ashes and writhing worms Existence, a joke. It’s plain to see Plain to see, it is my decree All comedians are we!
2.
I got more than one bone to pick But the corpses all look the same When the whole mountain range is made of tinder and tow It won’t take much to set the hills aflame I’ll warm my hands over charnel fires Breathing in the dust of the day I hear the howl of the coyotes in the dry dead land They come to carry the scraps away Would you ever Eat your tribe If meant you would never die? Would you follow The feet of your brothers Tracking flames across the sky? Would you ever Be consumed By this modern life? Would you let the void Eat you alive If his teeth took away your strife? Took a walk back to the forest path Following the creek like a vein Where if you bury your axe into the fallen wood You can almost hear it screaming in pain Sucking up the blood from the gravel and mud At the foot of the hanging tree and all the roots have cracked the jagged tombstones in half so I forgot where they buried me on a country road at the twilit hours when the dusk light pierces the trees there’s a game trail to follow out back of the church but you’re gonna have to crawl on your knees when the brambles close tighter and you lose your past and all the futures seem to be the same you’re gonna burrow and bite until the world rots black like a worm in the orchard of names.
3.
I’ll burn my mortal years like fuel Make a weapon of my pain and my madness into a tool Caffeine, sugar, red-eye, snuff: Run my engines ragged and rough This world hasn’t given me reason to play it cool I can’t tell where the paint becomes a trail of blood I’ve run my tracks so deep in flesh like ruts in the mud I’m a bucket of failing bits I know, This condition is tradition put your foot through the transmission Shift, shift, shift ‘ere we go! Gimme salt and iron in my maw Grind my teeth like gears on words that cut like saws I feel a stinging in the nostrils kinda like petrol fire I’m well aware Of the ground I’m losing, slipping through my claw Paint it red the faster to its death it goes This condition is tradition put a cork in the emission and Shoot, shoot shoot Backfire, ‘ere we go!
4.
That night the mists on table mountain hung like shrouds on an autopsy slab and the stars above the cairns below shone like gems in an idol’s eye and once more blue lights shone on the marsh and the tar pits gurgled in ghoulish delight by my parent’s word was I sculpted “what has never lived can never die” By day am I short and stout and still By night am I out of sight and mind as I cast my spells though they be not mine My words spill like blood till I fall I wait under cover of cast iron for the witching hour to arrive for then the dish runs away with the knife to heed the creator’s call Tip me over, pour out your faith blame your fault on some malignant wraith the simple truth is that this isn’t true what you have blamed on me was done by you (Tokoloshe) Can’t you hear them crying out for more? Entire species now obsessed with gore call me a demon, but I can see you all are worse than I will ever be (Tokoloshe) I am a servant of the fear (taking form in your curse) given sight by the seer (and a voice by your verse) into the sky above Johannesburg (after the fire) servitor, sentinel, sentience at your desire!
5.
Rootchewer 03:13
Words here always spread As a plague upon the wind Sometimes they can kill just the same . . . After the owl’s call Before the shadow’s fall ‘twas witching hour when the stranger came On that night the town That slept so well before Had ears and eyes awake in every door When the shadows moved They clutched at all they knew And somehow found a thousand questions more They say he sleeps beneath the soil So far below those twisted trees Is if to shun the world of fellow men He slips away on adder’s coils Untouchable as winter’s breeze And there’s no epitaph where he descends the voice of reason leaves the village in a hush He sits alone with eyes upon the door the cold is creeping in the fire fades to coal his shadow moves like rats upon the floor when the sickle of the crescent moon Has cut its way out of the clouds Reflecting in the pools that scar the land They say that marsh wisps wild and blue Like faeries in his wake shall dance And spiders weft the truth upon his hand
6.
I have a small green stone I place it in a cup I spoke the words, and still I couldn’t kill the sun I have three golden threads kept in a box unseen and if you think me mad, wait til I speak again… …”Line?” ‘twas whispers that I sold to those who sought the truth I carved the trees with love and I killed my home instead So yet again I play in the visage of the day I’m dressed unready for the performance of a lifetime I cannot dance away my sorrows like you do Nor can I face an audience that might perceive me The sky is… Blue? Then why am I afraid? I could undo all this with a swift decision and a pair of sharpened blades. Morning found me, not my self sunburned, no strength to fight the charms of your carcinogenic light Mourning bound me, blissfully unwell crawling back to the cave where mere shadows made more sense to me I have fallen in love with the lens flare blinding me so I need not see myself Why can’t I be alone with my despair? can’t you see my anguish through the light you shine on me? I beg you if you find it in your means to believe what you have seen and move your heart between the sun and me ‘cause the light is too much I fed you not a single lie between these thinning lines of our reality, but the web’s not what it used to be follow the threads closure at the curtain’s fall rebuild me and paint me red as an answer to the patron’s call. Move between the sun and me…
7.
Azure arcana, cantrips in crimson Have found their ways onto the stone I beg for an eye to read what is written To understand all that we’ve done For what is a word in the absence of letters? And what could they be without thought? I beg for the wisdom to loosen our fetters To recall the battles we’ve fought Now, see what the horrors have wrought The library burns at the jester’s decree Cries from the void “I’m the change that you sought” So why are you fleeing from me? Veridian chants, obsidian curses Like ink turned our bleeding hearts black I beg for a voice to give wings to these verses So that we may bring ourselves back O sires of chaos, o music of madness Come guide us at last to our fate I beg for a hand to take hold of the chalice And thrust the key into the gate “I am the change you have sought, why are you fleeing from me?” Burning essence Flickers beneath translucent skin Bearing matches To set the last vestige of truth aflame In the window Paraselene round their lunar eyes Here it shall come to pass as so many times before Civilization undone by the whims of man made manifest Come, blinded Muted I am the carnage you’ve wrought in your efforts to see Come, deafened Heretic I am the change that you’ve sought Flee from me.
8.

about

"The Comedy of Forms, The Tragedy of Function," a distorted harvest by Goblin Hovel, was recorded throughout the winter of 2019 at Nektarkin Studios by our very own druid Rawbeard. It was mixed and mastered on Elder Crow's spiraling staircase in the first two months of 2020 by Joshua A., whose computer literally called him a jackass for 45 minutes straight.

credits

released February 26, 2020

All lyrics and music written by Goblin and performed by Goblin Hovel, ©2020. Cover art by Kris Hillen, ©2020.

Goblin Hovel consists of:
Goblin: guitars, vocals, bass, cello, percussion, jaw harp, bouzouki
Rawbeard: guitars, vocals, bouzouki
Damn Barbarian: vocals
Mickey: piano, vocals
Joshua A.: sonic stitching

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Goblin Hovel

A genre-defying band that entails the cooperation of several artists from several bands of several genres under the direction of a nameless Goblin. They present a view of the modern world through the lens of history, mysticism, and mischief.

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