SURVIVORIAUnder the Gravebell (Hell Beat Version) Metal/Hardcore

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"Under the Gravebell" is where the Conclave is named as law humming through the body. The song's night-market imagery, service lattice, credits, cuts, and gravebell make exploitation feel both economic and ceremonial. This track helps define the institutional force behind Aurelia and Lira's later escape thread. The Conclave is not just a group of people; it is a law that turns living bodies into tithe. This is the Hell Beat Version. Music, arrangements and lyrics: Andre Willowisp. Vocals: Eira Nova. Artwork: SURVIVORIA.

Release: Under the Gravebell (2025-11-24) Track 2 | ISRC AEA2L2534809 | UPC 5063826285100

The night shuts down its abattoir-lid The bell sustains one note of dread. I hock my breath by the minute and keep the rest for playing dead The neon peels like leprous chrome from the market’s teeth of bone disinfectant, cum, and copper on the piss-warm paving stone My service-lattice hums, a sigil-brand of deep cerulean hue a fucking-beacon for the wolves who pay to push right through The ghost-feeds drift, a frost of static-hiss from ruptured veins wearing flensed-off faces, whispering forgotten fucking-stains The bone-saws keen a porcelain litany, a vivisected choir with fungal growths that drink the marrow, septic spit, and wire Don't meet the vacant schematic where a soul should be clench your fucking name like a razor blade between your teeth Under the gravebell, under the gravebell Hell! we price our holes and tithe our living hell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell Shell! the chrome buys meat, the clients buy the shell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell knock once: you're bought. Knock twice: you're split Knock thrice and enter let the void-cunt press until you quit Under the gravebell, under the gravebell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell Praetor's laugh, a scalpel's antiseptic grace and poise the chem-sticks crack, chart constellations for the client's toys The chrome-jawed hounds now herd the glitch-swarm's flight to ground below and code congeals to razored s_c_r_i_p_t that makes the new wounds glow The semen-river curdles in the alley's failing light its dead-fish eyes hang limply, staring through the endless night A Rat Colossus orbits, glacier-black and cabled-sore its whiskers drip with broadcast snow, a feed of "nevermore" By the bone-grove turn, and whisper nothing you have heard tell your name to filthy water—choke on every fucking word Under the gravebell, under the gravebell HELL! we price our holes and tithe our living hell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell TELL! the night peels skin to read the tales we tell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell knock once: you're bought. Knock twice: you're split Knock thrice and swallow let the death-drive signal bless your shit Under the gravebell, under the gravebell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell The Mirror-Plague descends—reflections born with missing mouths look once - your throat fills up with static-screech; look twice—and rupture south The Ghost-in-Wire will kiss you deep, will fuck your verbs to blight I bite the gag until the black blood comes and staple shut the night My hands remember clients, my pockets chew on teeth gold-crowned fragments of their vows, still pulsing underneath Hush the mirror! Stitch the skin! Brand is your chapel! Violation's hymn When the bell falters play the whore When the fuck-command enters—break the jaw Salt the wound! Greet the breath The hole's your anchor! Every knock is Death The customer's a trinity of effluent and strobe a static-caster for a tongue, commandments in a robe Kneel, Gape, Forget—the catechism of the fucking whip the stun-rod blooms a violet welt, his laughter oils the grip Behind my ribs a pump counts credits, cuts, and seeping years between my legs the Conclave’s law just hums like fucking shears I sell the warmth my flesh can fake, the silence of the used I keep a shard of bone inside for dawn, to leave it bruised Under the gravebell, under the gravebell yeah! we price our holes and tithe our living hell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell cell! we trade our spasms, but we keep the cell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell knock once: you're bought. Knock twice: you're split Knock thrice—no heaven, just the meat-hook where your body's hit Under the gravebell, under the gravebell Under the gravebell, under the gravebell we are the altar, and the fuck-meat left Dawn Stone void Keep cleaned And of course If you win x