1. |
Omajod
10:21
|
|||
|
We suffer, why suffer more?
Why bother?
Seething, blaming me.
Enclave:
worship those in control.
Glass eyed cyclops:
Bringer of blight, purveyor unknown.
The sum unspeaking tongues, and voice that equal none
Amount to this god we’ve crafted from mud.
Awake yet we wait,
Enlivened we wander,
Rejecting the pure, and corroding the song.
Imbibe your cup awaits – incite the psalm.
We house, feed and grow.
Our voices sink and fold.
Quiet.
Voices sink and fold.
Words so holy flow.
Dry your eyes.
|
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2. |
Turgid Waters
05:16
|
|||
|
A serpent drifts through water, it’s true form skewed by silt
Spewed forth in bursts of murky current
Hard dark scales.
An ancient leveler of egos, a tempest undisturbed
Cast aside in the wake of shadows.
This writhing figure embodies, fangs sharpened on the bones
Of the less aware.
I, intrinsically, am here only for my most basic need
And so easily am finding myself.
Fade away, dog shit
Straight line – sick of it.
Try to rest, lay to waste
Unrestrained, break the gray.
How do you fight for this
Dusk ends – gone
Are the days free to spend
Find a time; find a away.
|
||||
3. |
Of Sage and other Herbs
00:42
|
|||
|
instrumental
|
||||
4. |
The Traveler
04:43
|
|||
|
Dark daze
Lion on a crowd
Sight fixed
On his master’s throat
I’m no sorcerer
How can this be?
Unrepentant day
All your life so cold
Look around
Go your own
Sun Hazed
Shrouded in this cloak
Painted
by the shadow’s stroke
I’m no sorcerer
take this from me
Iridescent beast
Light this sage
Consecrate
Let yourself be low
knocked down on your knees
alone
i’m no sorcerer
light your sage
concentrate
light your sage
consecrate
leave this place
|
||||
5. |
Hatchet
05:05
|
|||
|
Gathered here to lay to rest:
Our thought of malice and discontent.
Our word in stone: a libel unveiled.
A while now I’ll rest.
Alive and awake.
Dressed in black, a summer’s
Our sweating necks reflected in
A glimmering spade.
Spare from the wear,
Spare the cool touch of clay.
Cut by the blade
Infected it swells, and it pains me again
Left to erode
The shallowest grave
The hatchet buried
But still it is within our reach.
Can’t forget or forgive
Can’t forsake the foreseen
Deep in our heart hate lives.
We bury this hatchet
We cover the blade
Watch the ceremony fade
It was you who buried it here
It’s my wound my burden to bare.
|
||||
6. |
Rabbits
05:02
|
|||
|
Motions will be made when others lay.
The path untamed lays souls.
Hold stoic gaze, and steady pace
The other foot drops.
Lace break.
The first to fall.
Pipedream. Onwards we go.
Lace frayed – not unreachable.
All I’m left with:
Words to curse this.
Last cans opened, vacant eyes wander to the blade.
White fur, our friend: loved; skinned.
Stone toed, endless road
The first to fall
Burdened least of all.
Tied your rabbits in holes.
One final whispered oath.
|
||||
7. |
Microcosmic Design
03:57
|
|||
|
In reverse zoom from point of sand to floating moon.
In lunar dust.
Lesson learned in life, boiling the inside
Well without a trace, stuck in your side
Remains:
Quivering, sinking in, let the light bathe you.
The need to force
A microcosmic design.
To be perceived as one.
Calling of the drone
Becoming cold.
Forager of own, and seeker.
Turning preacher.
Softly states, all these years
How my size fails me now.
To be perceived as one
While thousands of millions collide
Ignorant to this.
|
||||
8. |
Forgetfulness
01:41
|
|||
9. |
Hand on the Stone
06:24
|
|||
|
Hand on the Stone
Wearing at his palm.
Molted skin stone.
Attrition.
Rough hands erode.
We can.
Regeneration.
It’s Sisyphusian in some form.
Wearing your feeling fingers down.
Legacy his only contribution
To a world that’s gone.
Fixed in his task.
Decades pass.
Stone pushes stone, relinquish control.
Life he lived means nothing if no one remains.
Guess his reward is purpose hands on the stone.
|
||||
Astrakhan Vancouver, British Columbia
NEW MUSIC VIDEO FOR CUTTING TEETH :
www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jwpAcU383o
Get our albums on beautiful 180 gram vinyl through War on Music Records.
LINK:
waronmusic.com/store/item/astrakhan-reward-in-purpose-12-lp
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