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Breathing foul vapours from bubbling brook of foetid pestilence, scraping gnarled claws against the firmament above—and the blackest of mud deep below—coalesces from blessed scum and ardent decay, the one known only as Burier, the Swamp Spirit of the Southern Australian fenlands. Now a filth soaked legend spoken in the shadiest corners across the underworld, there was a time when the Swamp Spirit was not so well known, with only a pair of demo incantations to lay claim upon. It was only in conspiracy of that which takes from all, that which stands at the other end of the astral rope facing Life, did Burier take In Communion with Death, and create its first-length debut incantation of the same name. Now, under the iron eyes of GoatowaRex cult biomancy desecration, does this earth weeping collection of painspells come to fervent acolytes upon double devastation of vinyl wax for the first time ever. To bleed not only the earth, but all those who would dare experience it for themselves.

In Communion with Death is like the slow bloom of infection, bringing first a fever of terrible dreams and visions, then a wave of palpable crimson ruin over the flesh, as skin begins to peel and rot, insects crawling through sockets of eye and mouth, before succumbing to the mud below. The black mire of the wilds chewing up another for its immortal belly. Hulking painspells of putridity that tempt listeners with morose serenades of low whispers and acoustic drone, only then to take them through tortuous techniques of; soul searing tremolo melodies, bombastic percussive drum brutalities, spectral synths and samples, autumn decay lyrical thematics, truly biting vocal catharsis, and damp cloying cloak of atmosphere draped over all—to bring finality of infection to completion. Those who know pain, and only seek for more ways in which to inflict it upon themselves, in both body and spirit, need prostrate themselves no longer before the altar of misery, for In Communion with Death, and under the tutelage of that which is the Burier, they will find an agony unlike all that they have tasted before. That of the fenland disease, those which crawl beneath skin, and all those that make mulch of collective grey matter.

Description text scribed by @neheroth