The Absence of Light by Mangled Carpenter

The Absence of Light - Single by Mangled Carpenter

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The Absence of Light
by Mangled Carpenter

Album: The Absence of Light - Single

A city of letters
built on hearsay.
Every window lit,
no one home.
They swear there is a hand
behind the curtain,
but the curtain moves
only when fear breathes.

Names dissolve
when held too tightly.
Meaning fractures
under interrogation.
They demand confession
from metaphors,
strap symbols to the chair,
ask them who sent them.
The symbols remain silent.
They were never witnesses.

A map with no landmarks.
A war declared
against reflections.
The skyline accused
of intention.
The hills blamed
for what the valley imagines.

Saints were once wounds,
not trophies.
Ash and hunger,
not glass and gold.
Now they are mirrors
no one wants to look into,
so they are turned into statues
and blamed for breathing.

Horror knows what sermons forget:
that God is not polite.
That terror is sometimes
the only language left
when certainty rots.
Between blood and silence,
questions survive.
They build theology
out of silhouettes,
call the absence of light
a conspiracy.
But fog is not an enemy.
It is what happens
when no one waits for dawn.

Discernment moves slowly,
like water through stone.
Paranoia runs,
shouting directions
it never checked.
One listens.
The other points.

There is no machine.
Only hands shaking
in the dark,
mistaking echoes
for orders.
God does not hide
in the rafters of fear.
But fear will gladly preach
in His name
until silence interrupts it.
Between blood and silence,
questions survive.
They build theology
out of silhouettes,
call the absence of light
a conspiracy.
But fog is not an enemy.
It is what happens
when no one waits for dawn.