David Lynch's Hat New York, New York

DLH is a group of aliens that usually resides in New York City, but sometimes occupies Boston. DLH's music is rooted in metal, showcasing harsh growled vocals, distorted guitars, and double-bass drumming; however, by incorporating elements and influences from jazz, atonal music, rock, death & black metal, and anything, DLH is more appropriately labeled as Experimental Extreme Metal. ... more

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Track Name: I was a Communist for the FBI [Demo]
Matt Svetik:
"I was a communist for the FBI."

The story you are about to hear is based on the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Svetik, an undercover agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, who, for nine fantastic years, lived as a communist for the FBI.

Matt Svetik:
"I was in the party. I saw it work. For nine years, I recorded the communist conspiracy against the United States from within. This is part of the story."

"I have had the feeling all evening that we have met before, Comrade Svetik."

Matt Svetik:
"Comrade," in the office, I spoke. "You are mistaken. You have not seem me before. Despite your efforts to beg to differ, I promise it was not I."

"FBI agent. That's where I saw you. You were talking to an FBI man. I told you I would remember."

Matt Svetik:
"Sir you have me. Pistol as your personal greeting. You aim for my suicide. Bureau bullets fire at your scheme. That's right Konostoy. Scurry away. That's right. Scurry away."

Matt Svetik:
"The FBI fire laced the night with red as it went over me, but Konostoy had a good start. He was getting away went he hit that bad curve, doing seventy. Then there was nothing on earth that could save him as his car skidded over the steep embankment."

"Deceived you were, you worthless beast. Embraced by flames through infinity. The godhead is absent."

Overturned and jammed into the tree's cervix. The cadillac spews forth its concoction [of fuel, antifreeze, and melted steel]. Chlorophyll disintegrates. Bark peels. Roots forever corrupted. Truly a majestic sight/site.

"I was getting away when I hit that bad curve. Seventy on the road as I made my haste from the American fire that cut through the night. Red in my eyes, sickle-and-hammer soul. Fight or flight, I soared to my end. Was it worth it?
Track Name: Sandwich Hat (The Human Disease) [Demo]
Wait so long
The Cold blisters on, biting at your skin
Biding time
Seven-day Sorrow again and again
Endless Cycle
Spoke with a friend; both Uneasy
Common Patterns
Disgusting Stupidity: the Human Disease

Faceless clones
Individual is nonexistent
Vapid words
Vacant and callow, stubborn, persistent
Blithely moving
Smiling through pretense; jovial, happy
Common Patterns
Boundless insipidity: the Sheep Follow Sheep

Erase and Eradicate the Maggots of Transcendence
Pulsing and eating at true Comprehension

[blastbeat section]: ?fhdgxfcjvkhuyrcftghffgyessssokFUCKER

Self-important is the core of the enemy
Welcoming responsiveness is its guise
To initiate its absolute destruction
Its elements and yours you must comprise
Track Name: 33rd Street Rawson [Demo]
Temerity between two abandoned souls
Smoke amidst the menacing vibrations
Hours of health, lost in the plumes
Selfish sacrificial contribution to the void
Impersonality becomes the drive
Listless, protagonist, antagonist, perfectionist

Time constrains collapsing concepts
Olfactory functions warily warping
The will to unwillingly wear down
Acceleration towards fine black points
Accent, exacerbate, reverberate, procrastinate

Nonexistent room of compassion
Twisting within its existence
Birthing expression of self reflection
Flickering flame to the façade of I
We are alone


Relativity erupting in various torrents
Mastication of transcendental parallels
Forging the all-encapsulating fortress
We are alone


Rusted, cold, polymeric liquidation
Dilated and peeling, evaporating layers
Sharpened and honed, coloring targets
Blistered and festering, amorphous catharsis
Truth conveyed through veils of complacence
Mind conscious through infusions of disgrace
Effacement of complete nothing within
Transfiguration of the genuine rot
Assuming nothing, anticipating all
Illusion of satisfaction
Track Name: Hipster Bloodbath [Bonus]

Trudging through the necroforest of McCarren Park
A hellish being materializes before them

The visage ov a darkened creature
Was that ov Pastor Doctor Martin Ssempa
On his body, a cloak of peril and nothing
His words spewed forth from the Fecal Bible

Thrusting his scythe through Leopard-print spandex
Crushing the glasses ov the Animal Collective
Decapitating the possessor ov vintage one-speed bicycle
The Pastor Doctor anoints the hipsters with his phallus

You hipsters shall be slaughtered by my sword
And the Lord shall strike the lands ov the north with his fist
He will destroy Williamsburg, and make its great capital,
Bedford Avenue, a desolate wasteland, parched like a desert