1. |
Slipstreams
07:07
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Shores of sand they fill my feet
that beat upon the ground.
I walk on palaces of dunes
that ring with floating sounds.
A sandaled stride through desert psalms
and mirages of oases.
I run through fire and rising glass
in secret thoughts and fantasies.
I feel it
writhing in the sun.
Following the stars that blink
and billow in the night.
I am smoke and windblown ash
and whirling winds that blot the light.
I burn like bullets that melt into wax
beneath the minarets.
I offer myself to the sand
and all its myriad epiphets.
I feel it
writhing in the sun.
Here it comes
crawling in the sun.
Floating sounds of strings and prayers
they trace their slipstreams back to me.
Lost in a storm of fury
adrift on a sandy sea.
Desert swans in thirsty skies
singing songs on absent breeze.
Ancient lands of endless sand
they fill my burning feet.
I am the sun that beats
I am the heart of the heat.
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2. |
Fata Morgana
03:47
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Near east and west shall meet
no redemptive destiny.
Like ebony and ivory
the sons of Abraham compete.
Far off in the desert land
man killing his fellow man.
Blame the holy guiding hand
got me shaking my head goddamn.
A pressure felt across the land.
With their holy books in hand.
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3. |
Living With Time
03:17
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Living with time in the back of your mind
moving through the salt and surf.
Drifting on fault lines of reason and rhyme
when you circle the earth.
Watching the tide on the long mountainside
with nodding sighs.
Rolling through brine out of space out of sight
of leering eyes.
Falling through the needle's eye.
Oh I, oh I.
Touching the keys of the whispered divine.
Oh I, oh I.
There's the loosing of fire from the brand in the briar
of warring climes.
There's the wither of the lyre as the elements tire
in worlds unkind.
But I look to you and the world is alive
on the long mountainside.
Catching the wind and on its back we ride
toward the sky.
Falling through the needle of your eyes.
Oh I, oh I.
Touching your skin to feel the warmth of your sighs.
Oh I, oh I.
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4. |
Eleven Doors
04:19
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I picked apart the buds of May
with silent wish, with salt and spray
from ports of call on sunset days.
Spectrum's sere with scripted shrouds
eleven doors, for heavens crowds
a floating sphere of ringing sounds.
So spill your fictions down the drain
and I will swill your diction til'
the storm rain paints our shadows still
the storm rain paints our shadows still.
Come on now baby, bring me the thunder
in a cauldron small
summon up the dredges of a churning old earth
with a staff of bone
and pagan calls.
When all the seasons lie in state
and darkness falls when hours grow late.
When all your fictions billow forth
and drown the sun, the south and the north.
When all is quiet on the span
the task is plainly clear.
To these silent scenes
we sing a song of suffering sound.
When words surrender sense to dust
and wisdom falls to serpents' trust.
We sing this song of suffering sound
we sing this song of suffering sound.
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5. |
Cofiwch Dryweryn
09:56
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beacons Ceredigion, UK
Raise the wind; sow the whirl; shake off the old humid earth.
MMcC, DA, AJH
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