an anthology in survey of the cycles of madness, procreation, destruction and restoration of the final generations of our species


released June 29, 2012

released 29 June 2012
Total Playing Time: 57:43

For download/purchase please go to hypaethralrecords.bandcamp.com/album/burn

All songs written and performed by TITAN
Chris W James M Brandon M Chris M Mike H
Additional composition by Aleks Stefanov
Lyrics translated, edited without permission by James M

Engineered by Sean Pearson at Boxcar Sound, Hamilton
and Josh Korody at Candle Studios, Toronto
Mixed by Sean Pearson at Boxcar Sound, Hamilton
Mastered by Colin Marston at Menegroth the Thousand Caves, New York City
Produced by Chris Woodford and James McDonough

8mm photography by Eileen Akitt
35mm photography by James McDonough
Design and art direction by James McDonough
Printed by Blackdot, Montreal

Myopic: Chris Colohan, Vocals
Telepaths: Tyler Semrick-Palmateer, vocals. Josh Korody, vocals. Bryan W. Bray, guitar and noise. Sean Pearson, pedal noise

React with Protest Records 064, Germany
Hypaethral Records 002, Toronto



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TITAN Toronto, Ontario

A union between the severity of hardcore and technical mastery/sinister malice of metal, such a bombastic sonic outcome from Titan is inevitable. Maintaining roots consistent with traditional Canadian hardcore established by the likes of Union Of Uranus, Buried Inside, Cursed and more, Titan enhances a rich, thunderous history with their own furious approach. ... more

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Track Name: Feast
Act One, Scene ii:

Claire: The head that will become a skull is already empty. That is the sight of the mind so crowded to forget us.

Michel: Has she not sent for the prophet; been wisened by the cleric drink'd from the oracle's cup?

Claire: More truly than you know, she has.
It's that corruption;
her knowledge of it, and mine, that put it so unrestrained.
What you see is a black painting of our creator;
twisted, and twisted again.
The flesh of her mind,
it heats and rots;
it twists and rots.

Michel: The blood on the door, then, is hers?
And what of ours, which we share alike?
Is ours spilled,
or is what spilled a portent for me, to be me?
Kill thy physician
and thy fee bestow
upon the foul disease;
the emetic sigh;
this deafening image...

Act Two, Scene iv:

Rosario: Saturn,
hands colder than time,
sinks his teeth into the flesh of his children.
A black painting of malevolence and conflict.
hands older than ice,
a mouth hot with the blood of his own -
cast the flesh off,
like the scraps of a feast

Act Three, Scene iv:
Claire: "Orestes, here art thee?"

Michel: I'm in hell, I'm there still.
Will Apollo please, reach his hand to me?
Our hearts would swell,
would rupture;
should kill.

Rosario: Those I shall bear
will live forever in the shadow of my death;
on this side of the door.
Those I shall bear;
the sweet skin on their bones,
the stain on my teeth.
I am hungry, I grow hungry.

Claire: I came to you for the sore wealth of closure and we leave in that same debt betwixt.
We stand;
the missing hope of Holofernes,
on this side of the door.
And I can hear:
"I am hungry, I grow hungry"

Michel: I struggle to breath,
a half-submerged dog,
a canceled-fate,
a nothing-left.
This is the price of my throat;
I scream to the sun as a lion.
Track Name: Indulgence
I go out walking, I take the side streets
Find hidden churches I have never seen
In houses line sleep those for it to nourish
On stone outside, my own place of worship
My sal and my sins bend as it pleases
Blessings are sings, my secret diseases

I press my lips against the stone steps of the city,
Lash on my back, bleed into the streets of the city;
Vowing silence, I start & I pray to the city;
A den of thieves is the temple of God; the city.
Scala Sanctum

"those who adore the pop kiss whatever he gives them to kiss"
Track Name: Myopic
The things I do for that miserable little girl,
with a crown of sorrows offer the sore wealth of the world.
A black portrait painted of a naked, violent scene;
hung to high got my poor eyes to see

but that's the perfume;
that's the kiss.
those the petals
which match my lips

this the haze
which glows your hips
the ebb of honey
which sweetly drips.

the pool of iron
below my first
the gums that, splitting,
tongue painful bliss

see in myself
her myopic squint
theme of present hell,
streams of blood & spit

I shook and stoke from her, cursed to keep it
from a body too young to have secrets
Come barber and priest; hand me to the eventual
On the chair painted yellow, shout: "this is sensual!"

The things I do for that miserable little girl
possessor of all the hells I succumb in this world
Supple in hearth, slight in both frame and years;
could see past my deeds, see into my fears
Track Name: Warmer Months
Sonnet 6

Come young weather, part clouds of jealous cold
Heat the earth and make born of it the dew.
to drink in your warmth, like a breath and hold
Make love, th'unending sun, so start it new.
Immortal season, like Hera calls on:
The moon, a stone, a pearl, the sky's own rose.
"De tous mes souhaits, j'en presse le moment,"
from precious figure, a rare pathos shown.
Soft and unused, old spring's sin bleached hot, clean;
white skin unbruised, so hope, never is lost:
Would summer to age, 'twould make clearer seen:
the depth of the loss that takes from the trust.

Begin without end, the summer months bloom
Inside of you, I found the warmth of June.

Sonnet 7

Inside, again, tempted; tasted her lips
The sun found on the missing coast of July:
sitting black on gold strands stitched to water.
Slept not once, to watch this months hours die,
We spoke but once, to the sun, said goodbye.
Blinded by bring nude heat, drowned in the beach.
Parched I, held hard your thirst 'gainst sand now dry.
wilted seaside; bathos; the tide now leaves.
Twins turn to Leo, would the take from me:
Worth more in heart than Caesar his Rome,
to keep your heart, your skin, remain in dream.
Bear fire, pain 'twixt sheets, to call shores my home.

Thy immortal lust, does immortal last
See eyes, the summer months, in warmer pasts
Track Name: The Fire Sculptures
destroyed person
the gone human
the sore wealth
of experience
builds a temple of skulls
to the god of war

violent pleasures
being human
refusal of confession
the ground is hot
the rats are leaving
rot in the walls of babel
the fire sculptures

dispirit curse, torpid man
the concluding dithyramb:

we near the end
the tour of worship
BURN rusting hulk
the towering warship
pillars of smoke
towers of silence
the fire sculptures
the altar of bone
of kyknos; of glycon
seed death into the ground
seeds of the great fear
a refusal of confession
the black painting
the church of skulls
a temple of worms
apocatastasis now
we near the end
the things we have build are so excellent to destroy
destroy it all
restore it all
destroy it all
restore it all

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