Til The End Of Time

The sound of the sun - purple, orange and red - cresting over the brown, tree-spotted hills. The voice of the beams, pure and forlorn, another day at work at this. What beauty can swirl down the drain, what lust and love can mimic clouds encircling silent, invisible wishes. The music of the Pacific Northwest dream (nightmare) pop band, Beatrix Sky, is the stuff that shoots the starting gun, the race for your heart and gut to sink low and wallow before the inevitable up-rise again.