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What Passes For Survival

by Pyrrhon

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  • Pyrrhon Tshirt

    Limited edition shirt for the release of "What Passes For Survival".

    For larger sizes 2XL and above you must order from the willowtip website directly.

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  • What Passes For Survival sweatpants

    Printed on Hanes ComfortSoft™ EcoSmart® Men's Fleece Sweatpants.

    Front Pockets with Drawstring

    Small - 28-30in 67-76cm
    Medium - 32-34in 77-86cm
    Large - 36-38in 87-96cm
    X-Large - 40-42in 97-106cm
    2X-Large - 44-46in 107-116cm

    Large Pyrrhon logo down the front of the pant leg.


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Clot-brained cogwheel in the sheets Turns and sweats and makes his lists Drug-dream-wracked reprobate creeps Towards the daylight’s tasks in heaps Pearl-zenithed walking zit Makes his home where he can fit Shops around for flavored swill Earns new ulcers with that shit What oils lubricate his lust? What libels lurk in songs he loves? What lord commodifies his trust? He don’t know much but he knows this You take your cut where you can find it Drinksop spirit drowns the past He just wanted to do his best But trying only wore him thin Fuck off, you didn’t live through any of this Prideful inmate sworn to stress Bares his teeth at disrespect Freedom’s a real pretty word Take the options you can get He chants the happy victim’s creed: Let distraction succor me And polish all my edges down ‘Til I am smooth and blank as stone To better fill my given role Make me what I am Make me the servant I was born to be
The numbers keep running Somewhere I can’t follow To redacted transcripts And data-rich shadows Oh, I can feel the hands on me They labor with loving efficiency To carve away pounds of my flesh As they comfort me: “This is how it’s supposed to be” The sources in conflict Revised and provisional The havens offshore The funding’s untraceable But someone’s getting paid And everyone’s got a theory Oh, I can feel the hands on me Pointing me towards the ones I should hate Don’t tell’em the maths got minds of their own They want backs to walls And blame always finds a home This isn’t what they promised me Their tide won’t lift me back to my feet Nickels and dimes weighing me down And plenty of ocean for me to breathe Ten thousand lashes for our sins Don’t know what I’ve lost but I feel it missing Each voice for itself in this chorus of fools The future’s a coda, we’re singing the blues And stealing our notes from the bank of dreams Whose vaults echo deaf as the tune runs astray Our number’s up We all gotta pay
$30 cover for the khaoss magick live ritual Not Nazis, just into the aesthetic Library of forbidden lore purchased on Amazon (For this pleases the Dark Lord) Doing real evil sure seems risky And like it might require a suit and tie Better to trust time-tested theatrics Ancient sacraments passed down from the ‘80s Oh, it’s the old rot of Rome Dolled up in goat horns and a gas mask And croakin’ out turgid liturgies I got your old-time religion right here Crypto-Christian cheerleaders Root, root, root for the losing team Better start picking up hours Thousands to spend on robes and costumery The hordes won’t show if your look ain’t fancy The greatest trick the devil ever pulled Was convincing you saps That ‘observe the dress code’ Shall be the whole of the Law Incant thy prayer to pseudo-profundity Inverted crosses confess thy pontiff envy Menacing gibberish covers for hollowness Bestial blasphemic nunrape nonsense The beast as described by D&D (For this pleases the Dark Lord) Clownpainted priest garbed for mummery Casts charm of +5 protection against women and minorities But keeps it down, mindful of sales Best to maintain a dead language smokescreen Ave Satanas, ave domini inferi Polire hunc stercorum et tu non potes
Tennessee 07:46
They took more than time from you Down in Tennessee
 Where the land rolls rusted And kudzu strangles the trees in green Deformed like you by medicinal bonds Blameless but shrouded in shame They gave you more than bruises Down in Tennessee Where the mountains loom lumpen Some storm-cursed earthen sea Root-sewn to your bed Where sweat stained wood and stone Your shrinks sentenced you to labor in the loam Tending the falsehoods you’d carry back home They held you down And peeled ripelike back The curl-crested crown of a child Planted their alien seeds Cruel furrows in trusting clay And we blessed those bastards For the nostrums they sold us The prayers they passed off as your cure Your work raised you from that riverbank hell Where out of love we damned you to dwell Take pride in the scars they carved in you For in their depths, a secret strength grew Unbowed it abides inside As you forge your faraway life That strange iron guide you dragged up From beneath the hills down in Tennessee Where the land rolls rusted And kudzu strangles the trees in green
Talk comes real cheap Expend and dispose, expend and dispose These days, it’s what I live to do Oh, I know this junk is tacky But it’s what I’ve got to offer I’ll just keep on spitting out more litter It’ll heap up in disposable drifts Some poor fucks will sort through it in shifts Believe me, there’s more where that came from Where can I buy budget words to describe The awful hole that gapes inside Me, and just keeps growing, growing, growing As I pour in more and more plastic metaphors You know you’re gonna keep on reading This shit, lightweight and stripped of the meaning It once wrapped up, ‘til I used it all up Now it’s dross, compacted in metonym clumps And all this waste comes straight from my waist I’m shitting out tons and tons of this garbage every year Dumped logotoxins leach into the groundwater I’ll make every ear my sewer It’s all trash talk, trash talk, trash talk Throw me on the pile No deposit for recycle One use only And all that offal is crawling Back up through the plumbing It’s clambering out Of the landfills and rivers My filth children will wander While I spawn more, and wonder Why these refuse similes All sound so incomplete
Surrender grows in you slow Its tiny grasping hairs filling the empty holes Clotted and stiff, you wonder how you bloated so wide The screens buzz hot in darkened rooms Where resentment made a home of you For the rest of its life, the rest of your life Dumb drone lodged, rudderless in time Fearful and thick, sclerotic and blind The lifesore dam leaks above town At home, your hands divide your gut Deluded that some deeper trench Could cure neglect, forestall the flood The old rules slump like stricken trees And all your hatreds burst to light The little hairs that clog your heart The little hairs wriggle inside The systems unwind in glorious real time Nothing is real, and everything is fine It’s a new world, you have your pick of lies Your hallowed despair birthed no insight Just lust for the heel turn, the bully’s glib spite You know it’s shit But we’re all taking a bite You don’t need consent A few precious organs quit, the whole body dies The hour grows late And the blade nestles shy To await your throat’s final complaint
This is a firsthand account Of a culture committing suicide The unraveling scream Of the precious shared bonds As we wrench free Of their grip on our lives
Death’s release: just one more scam Peer through your lifeless blue-veined hands And watch the parasites rush in To make a buck off your old carbon Throwing up their pipelines Across miles of ruined skin Refining down your empty flesh For nutrients and oxygen Pinstripe-shrouded maggots seize And monetize your memories Oh, it’s too fucking sad We gave up what we had All that life, wasted on the living And we, the dreamers, lost to the dream
It thrusts against the sky, that fallow womb While the waters we raised lap its lurid weight Listen: In these austere halls The generations echo unlived, Their laughter muted, their tears unshed See: On these pristine walls and barren floors, A silent perfection that no one will witness, No one can access These honeycomb cells house tenants, too The churn of the sea, the rippling heat And the private stillnesses of corpseless tombs Down in the drowned boiler room Some cold soul stirs It turns in its lonely repose To recall memories it never birthed Who would mourn them, those pinioned fools Now spared their sorry fate: To subsist on the bitter fruit That passes for survival, in these vile final days? The dead-end jobs and the chronic aches The food that sallows, and the jokes from the gallows The cry-choked air and the fat-cloaked bones The poisons to love, and the leaders to hate The grey lives endured with purposeless grace What wild spirit could thrive on such pain? What primal will would cling to this place?


Continuing to shapeshift and unravel, while using unorthodox songwriting techniques that border on the incomprehensible, avant-garde extreme metal quartet PYRRHON return with What Passes For Survival.

Dense, volatile, and drenched in manic ferocity, What Passes For Survival is an aural challenge that refuses to adhere to genre conventions, merging strategic orchestrated bursts of death metal chaos with expanses of unhinged improvisation.

The latest stage of PYRRHON’s metamorphosis is one that demands repeated audio submersion from the listener, and satisfies those craving sonic extremity that pushes limits.

Also available on vinyl via Throatruiner records:


released August 11, 2017

Doug Moore - Vocals
Dylan DiLella - Guitars
Erik Malave - Bass
Steve Schwegler - Drums

Recorded, mixed, and mastered by Colin Marston at The Thousand Caves.

Artwork and layout by Caroline Harrison.


all rights reserved



Pyrrhon New York, New York

"Outré as they get, everything Pyrrhon do emanates from an obsidian death metal core - just that this music is that much more expressive, its impact that much more disquieting than almost anything else in the genre."


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