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Strategically Confined

by Blame God

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released March 17, 2017

Recorded by Eric Gerwatowski @ Rock & Roll Gas Station
Mastered by Brad Boatright @ Audiosiege
Cover art by Raphael Gabrio

Additional vocals on Track #5 - “Blame God” provided by Colby Donahue and Uriah Thomas



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Blame God Oneonta, New York

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Track Name: Deny
“Creative Bunch”
No, just slaves.
Driving 55 into the sun.
A beautiful explosion means we’re all the same.

Evolutionary suspension.
Question Nothing.
No air, no brevity, just funerals.
Track Name: No Guns for Castrate
Mowed over, replaced, extinguished with futility.
Built by yourself, laughed and gestured.
Decidedly wanted.
Tricked into a corner and tortured.

Soul sucked.
Left alone, abandoned.

Weak and run over.
Then a helping hand from the absuser.

The body is tossed and discarded.
Replaced with the bastard.

No end to the cycle -
Wash, repeat.

Bleach until white.
Track Name: Guided by Suicide
Sensation, new life.
False teeming intoxication.
Elation breeds love for the sun.
A fly to the light, so fly to the light and die.


Climbed this ladder now I’m at the fucking top.
All I see is what’s below me.

And time, ending.

False teeming

Guided by suicide.
Track Name: Jarhead
Jarhead, minefield.
Dream wars against myself.

A look around where you see nothing -
But omissions, they’re knots.
Stillborn, still bred.
Bred a jarhead.

And a bullet to the head
means no chance for satisfaction.

Arms wrap
around the copper.
Ivy is enamored.

Can’t embrace the goddamn struggle if reaching in won’t remove this fucking knot.

Keep bleeding.

I’m standing in a pool of myself.
Strategically confined to a room with myself.
Track Name: Blame God
Intake, expense, imperfect senses.
Abuse to find Christ, consume, and demented.
The wooden grinding mortar.

Wake up down with a sense of entitlement.
It consumes you.
Like clockwork.

As to discover an astounding fucking nothing.

Calling for division of heaven.
First class for all those suffering.
But I spoke to God last night and He said,
“You’re no victim”.

But you blame God
For your life of struggle.
Searching for answers meant just running in circles.
You cry for justice.
Staring at the day, gun in your mouth,
lifelong submission, but no sign of a keeper.
Well you’re mine now. So drop the act.
Bow to me, I’m your fucking master.

Draining blisters so things can start to make sense.
Come to realize that the insides are hollow.
An infection built in your existence -
no fault but your own.

Can’t keep running.
Your words own you.
Replacing conscious with a crown of thorns.