1. |
The Wanderer
07:19
|
|
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A home
of the family
manned by trees
and banisters.
Smear to charcoal
fleshy fly unrolled.
No door but still the frame and wind is the wind
everywhere.
Birds in the clouds
Inland descending.
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2. |
Snow on the Hull
05:24
|
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||
One thousand
fingers point
to where the
flag once was
to know that
I am wrong
and right for
it.
Under the sky over and
over again.
This hull, my home
of the woven waves.
Everywhere I go waits.
Melted; melting.
I have found
the space around
the centre for far too long.
Unsounded
by the brink
everything's
inflection.
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3. |
What the Thunder Said
04:37
|
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||
It's called being dead.
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4. |
Synonymy
11:40
|
|
||
You’re a stone the sea refuses
and I am close for a wave
If this were good-bye
I’d hear you
If this were good-bye
There must be a war on, or something
There must be alarms where you are
We mar we leave and you should know
I’d never lived the way we lived
trace the ends of fingers
but she can’t free though she isn’t holding
I’m barely gone when I hear the echo
I was barely here
All our poised thread to exonerate
Surrender! Surrender!
None left for nausea
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Analogue of the Sun Inverclyde, UK
We are a psychedelic music collective and as such are interested in atmosphere, form and euphony.
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