Death-doom not for a funeral, but for a ripe, putrescent self-exhumation. Like Thou stripped of pretension or any shred of hope. Like a Funeral Moth bereft of wings and dignity. Tendrils of boiling distortion ooze from every lumbering note and ire vomits from goddamn demonic vocals. The soundtrack to being buried alive, slowly, wretchedly, eternally. You'll feel every nail as its driven into your coffin. Devastating nourishment for a vegetative state. Pure joy.