Matt Shadows their lead singer says the song was written as per request from the developers of Call of Duty: Black Ops 4. Watching the initial trailers for the game & looking at production sketches reminded him of the 'S-Town' podcast & its main protagonist, John B. McLemore. Matt also comments specifically on the lyrics: "I decided that the lyrics would shadow McLemore's life." In 2012, antiquarian horologist John B. McLemore sent an email to the staff of the show 'This American Life' asking them to investigate an alleged murder in his hometown of Woodstock, Alabama, a place McLemore claimed to despise. After a year of exchanging emails & several months of conversation with McLemore, producer Brian Reed traveled to Woodstock to investigate. Reed investigated the crime & eventually found that no such murder took place, though he struck up a friendship with the depressed but colorful character of McLemore. He recorded conversations with McLemore & other people in Woodstock. McLemore killed himself by drinking potassium cyanide on June 22, 2015 while the podcast was still in production. In the narrative of the podcast, this occurs at the end of the second episode; subsequent episodes deal with the fallout from McLemore's death while exploring more of McLemore's life & character.
In walking sleep and faded sight
In countless desperate steps
Trudging crossed a dead end world
Clawing to the depths
Competing on the treadmill
But grieving where they stand
An ordinary circumstance
An ordinary man
They gathered all possession found
They consummate their plans
Bleeding at their fingers
From digging with their hands
They all congratulate themselves
But nothing have they done
Their vessels lined up on the shelves
But empty every one
The point of no return
The closing of the door
The coldest days of Winter
The center of the storm
Before the dust has settled down
Before the spiral turns a twist
Before the numbers of your bank account
Are carved into your wrist
One by one we'll walk away
And watch the towers fall
Before the season old in Winter cold
Makes cretins of us all
The turning of the world
Brings coming of the dawn
And all these days of darkness
Will be forever gone
In countless desperate steps
Trudging crossed a dead end world
Clawing to the depths
Competing on the treadmill
But grieving where they stand
An ordinary circumstance
An ordinary man
They gathered all possession found
They consummate their plans
Bleeding at their fingers
From digging with their hands
They all congratulate themselves
But nothing have they done
Their vessels lined up on the shelves
But empty every one
The point of no return
The closing of the door
The coldest days of Winter
The center of the storm
Before the dust has settled down
Before the spiral turns a twist
Before the numbers of your bank account
Are carved into your wrist
One by one we'll walk away
And watch the towers fall
Before the season old in Winter cold
Makes cretins of us all
The turning of the world
Brings coming of the dawn
And all these days of darkness
Will be forever gone
Lyrics submitted by masonjason
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