by Hands Of A Saviour

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released January 18, 2016

All music written and performed by Hands Of A Saviour.

Tracks 1-6 produced and engineered by James Roberts.

Illustration by Timur Khabirov; layout design by Jack Fish.



all rights reserved


Hands Of A Saviour London, UK

Machine-gun vocals, dissonant grooves and heavy, technical metalcore from North London, England.

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Track Name: 32 Rue Vandenbranden | Caden Cotard
Bye, my son. Beddy-bye, son.
Mike Tyson? Keep up with the times, son.
My time? I try - I cry – well, why, son?
Bang! Hit me with a Bangarang, boy.
Don’t hang with the hoi polloi – Oi!
Don't hit this lost boy.
I forget if I'm the real McCoy ...

Talking about a Ru-fi-o.
Shout out to my man, that's Gob.
“Whatcha gonna do” when I steamroller every other brother
like my first name is Hulk?
Running wild on “Rowdy Rod,”
I run things on my own like Pol Pot.
Hear a rap on your chamber door -
a punch line that begins with "knock, knock:"

Who's there? It's the Big Bad Wolf,
coming in when I tear through your roof.
Not funny? Well is to me;
Road-Running over you like “beep beep.”
I want to watch you bleed; want to watch you plead –
ain’t nout that can stop the stampede.
I’m being mean like “fetch,” well what did you expect?
No affect when you treat me like an animal?

Animal, animal; a lowly animal.
“It’s got feelings but they’re so sporadical.”
Animal; this lonely Hannibal,
“His only wish is to feel a little humanical.”

You want a taste of this good life?
The Leadbetters can't see it through my eyes

‘Cause I met you at the bottom and I never really thought
that I ever would have had to say goodbye.
But things change - that ain't a shame for some.
Poor Henry's never been the one.
He just wanted to win one once and when it didn't come,
that was that - little baby was done.
Doesn’t he look sad, that sad sack?
Never look back when you break from the pack –
Fact: Some people dream; achieve,
but some can't get off their knees.
That's just the way it goes,
I mean, to succeed is a relative deed;
you need people like me at the bottom of the tree -
how else are you going to believe
that you made it to the top?
If that's not your lot, then so what?
That’s just life, isn’t it? Isn't it?


Yeah, I know that I've been acting erratic;
I’ve been keeping to myself and now it's getting problematic,
but you didn't have to do me like that.
I thought you knew me better than like that.

Something’s got me close to calling it quits and it’s
got me thinking back to when we were kids in bits,
wishing I could still remember the tricks; the kicks
to keep you rolling when I'm taking the piss
‘cause now it's you who’s taking the piss.

Sleep well, daydream.
Never be redeemed.

How could you show me such disrespect?
Weren’t you listening? I'm drowning - it's up to my neck.

Belittle me, riddle me this:
what's he to do with this Milligan wit?
The older he gets, the bigger he regrets -
could stand on his head but how soon they forget.

I stay in place and watch you drift away.
Like Bugsy Malone, I never get old.
Stuck in the mud, nobody home,
I pull on LD50 and wish I were Kud.

It sometimes seems to but it never comes ...
Still waiting by the shore for that something more -
I don't want to be here 'till I'm old and poor
I know how to do this play now - I have an idea, I think.
Track Name: What I Wouldn't Give
Finally feeling I can silence the rain;
like I can keep the blood from boiling out of my veins -
but I don't want to be myself for this.
No, I don't want to be myself for this.

How many times have I got to pick the gutter over the shutters;
the clutter of a heart flutter - another rebuttal?
I don't want to be myself for this.
I don't want to be myself for this.

'Cause I'm afraid that things will never ever go back -
and I don't want to see myself like that,
but what am I supposed to do, or think, or say?
To pray or be led astray?
I don't want to be myself for this.
I don't want to be myself for this.

... but who am I supposed to trust?
... and who do I know that won't judge?
... well maybe moving on is a must.
... it's just that I still love the rush.

Is it too much ask for this one to last?

Now I don't want to be myself for this,
but I can feel it coming at me hard like a fist that missed,
but twists and comes back; kisses your lips ...
then welcomes you back to the abyss.

Was it too much ask for this one to last?

I don't want to be myself for anything
that probably or possibly could mean that I lose -
confused, it's you, what am I meant to do?
These knots in my head won't undo;
never been so confused.

Everything that's been done; everything that's been said –
every step I've taken has been misled and endlessly relived.
What I wouldn't give for one day outside this head.
Track Name: Follow The Buzzards
My tongue is the scorpion’s tail.
The cold hands of life strike the frail.
There are men who dream and fail
but never learn what drives that nail.

I am the force that drives that nail.
I decide who dreams and fails.
My cold hands puppet the frail.
My tongue is the scorpion's tail.

Waking up irritated; always jaded?
Behind a fake smile, but you can’t take it?
See the image in the mirror, man; cater to it.
Count to ten; eradicate it.

And rejoice as the world begins to burn;
rejoice as the world begins to burn in the un-biased beauty of the flame. Breathe in, let it take away the pain.
Unbiased beauty of the flame, take away my pain.

There is no Hell for people like us - porcelain smiles will ransom your trust. “It'll be alright, it'll be okay;” “it'll be alright, bottle up the rage;” “don't let your life be defined by a cage.” Nothing is fine. Nothing is fine. There’s no cure for people like us - a whisper's kiss to soak on your cuts. We don't belong here. We don't belong here.

Control; control - The parts define the whole.
Control; control - Let it scar your soul.

Run …
Don't miss your mark …
Anything will burn with the right spark.

Don't fear the hand of the accuser;
break the stare of the seducer;
tear out the eyes of Medusa;
chant the name of the destroyer.
Don't fear the hand of the accuser;
break the stare of the seducer;
take the eyes of Medusa;
chant my name, Destroyer.

Wrap a clenched fist in barbed wire; Mr Fear, sir: you're a liar.
hear the choir expire; you're a pyre; I'm a fire.
Wrap a clenched fist in barbed wire; Mr Fear, sir: you're the liar.
Hear the choir; you’re a pyre;

I am the fire, you have made your bed now burn in it.
Where you hear silence, I hear symphonies of sainthood burning.
One by one they will all follow me. In dream I see them
escape the cold hand of the reaper and his final breath.

The Devil is a man, he takes my hand and walks beside me …
Track Name: All Mimsy Were The Borogoves
No self esteem; no self respect; no sense of self at all –
all in all: no-sensory overload.
I’ve been idle for the longest time
and how the devil has been working on
these idyllic hands of mine.
All mimsy were the Borogoves –
I've been killing time but only heaven knows how.
Another year passed by; fading away into the black of night.

Now I don't want to be another charity case
but I’m lost and I feel so empty.
There is no real me – only an entity;
something illusory – totally vacant.
I wonder which of my make-believe-mes they find less flagrant.

But here's something for free: you go in on one of mine, I'm coming for you. Now here's the scoop: even though that's a lie, I just wanted to try that one on for size. That's how I fantasize - thinking I'm a real man. Guess that's my deal, man. 'Cause the truth is - and this is ruthless – every time I flex, I feel useless.

But that's all I know.
“Trust nothing; love no one” - look what that gave me.
I hate the taste, but it made me
whatever it is that’s making me stare at the wall.
If I've got the gall and I fall in love,
could she love me enough for both of us?

How are you going to love someone
who wants to be somebody else?
Telling me that I’m always too hard on myself,
but I do not believe it when you tell me that I’m better than I do it -
I can't see it; you don't mean it; cannot prove it.
And I don’t want to be feeling like a vagabond forever,
but I don’t know what I’m seeing when I’m looking in the mirror
so I find it kind of hard to make the feelings any clearer.
All I’m hearing from that figure is this:

“I don't want to see your family cry;
I don’t want to read your vital signs;
I don’t want to end your life, but I
want to see the light fade from your eyes.”
Track Name: Welcome To The Borderline
Mirror, mirror on the wall:
Who's the lowest life of all?
Mirror, you don't say much at all.
What's the deal? You’re all I’ve got.
You want to go? Let’s take it outside.
You could bring an army – it’d make a fair fight.

Dried eyes falsify; my bravado is a lie.
Paralyzed; this is my misguided cry for help.
I’m not doing well.

But the truth is I don't know who to share that with because I feel so lost and alone - and I tell myself that I don't understand, but if I'm being honest I know why I'm alone. We're drifting apart because I'm the one who's been a crap friend and I'm the one who's pushing you away. I shut myself in. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is I deserve this.

Don't ever try to judge me, dude.
You don't know half the mess I've been through.
Do you know what it's like to feel so detached all your half a life?
To recoil from the touch of the very people you're meant to love?
I feel I can't bear the weight; won't reach the end at my current pace.

Why do I have to do this every time?
Why do I do this every time?

Fighting the jury in my head - verdict is guilty, back to bed.
Listen to songs like Starring Role - reality can take that toll.
Well that’s alright ‘cause I am not a real person;
I make believe as my symptoms worsen.

I just want to know why everything that I touch dies.
Everything dies, everything dies, everything dies.
If you could feel this you would punish yourself too.
God, thank you for my prize: the vision to realise
that if I had a thousand lives I'd kill myself a thousand times
for all my self-obsessive whines.

On my own.
No one's ever felt like this - delusion, delusion.
I can do this all myself - on my own.
Inescapable cycle – delusion, delusion.
Track Name: Fireworks On New Year’s Eve
Another year over and what have I done?
Another year older and what have I done?

When I was much younger I would dream of a day
I'd meet my future self and he'd have something to say.
Well now I'm the age I used to daydream about.
If I met that boy today, what I'd give for the chance to say:

You don't want to grow up to be just like me –
feigning interest in everyone you meet;
not having a clue who you're supposed to be.
Don't you want to grow up to be just like me?

And I try and I try and I try ... but guess what? It's that time of year again when I’ve been talking to my friends and they’ve been saying how they've used the time to turn around and better themselves the past year - well my fears have meant I’ve spent good amount of my time close to tears. Every year's exactly the same as the last one that just passed - how can you be arsed? The same job's a dead end; still no girlfriend. I could make a wish but why pretend the next year won't be that again; that I'll make amends; that I'll make a friend? Yes, it blows – this life I’ve composed, but I suppose that’s just how it goes.

You don't want to grow up to be just like me –
feigning interest in everyone you meet;
not having a clue who you're supposed to be.
Don't you want to grow up to be just like me?