A cowboy dance at the twilight of all things.

I've realized that I have no comments on this one. I need to appreciate before it's too late. That's the way.

Superb track, amazing feel and arrangement

a voice so familiar and so strange, your sounds are revelation

Great ominous foreboding atmosphere and vocals that whisper of mystery within these voodoo riddles..just fantastic.

i'm totally under the spell, love the lyrics, voice, music, ... and sang the wastes to sleep with a tongue of steel!... greatness wow

"Pull the skin over cold steel
blackened lungs won’t breathe but fire will!
Satiate my tongue with battery acid,
sign on the hill says NO ONE DANCES,
but white flags are waltzing on the oil stains,
on the blisters of hearth, rain, and bone;
animal skulls flower on clusters of speaker cones
that cry and wail and moan like cats in holes.

She drew her lips into a bullet kiss,
pumping black bellows spit and hiss
a jagged bit key goes into her breast -
with a sigh she spilled her guts and confessed,
there were red moths and butterflies inside her,
they flowed out in flaming streams into the rusted world,
we hollowed out the fair of spoiled grounds
and that old hungry grave ate our wounds.

They drew a circle around her iron feet, oh
how she’d loved the sweetness of honey teeth
we raised our dead anthems to burning fields
and gave up all we gathered, just bits of peels,
out where the slaves pumped and craved,
the howls of pain of their chains and broken wheels.
She made that old machine baby cry and squeal!
And sang the wastes to sleep with a tongue of steel!“

Sing the Wastes to Sleep

Songster, Composer, & Sound Mangler

Warbling sea harbored melodies - rhythmic tintinnabulary cabalettas inside soft baked fairy tale threnodies - lilting moontouched theramins and/or psychic lithographs of balloons, barns, and braided banana leaves - sleeping during dogwatch in the crosstrees by the languid moans of threadbare weatherboards - gritty euphonic lo-fi transmissions from long dead moon farms - invocations from antique radios short circuiting in cool spring rain.

This is for the anchors which bind the sugar to the orange.
For summoning unseasonal titans to storm the calamity of drab hours, out of ether,
the cloud throned dumplings who give suck to fat breasted delight and unabashed waking -
the blimpy sprites who gratify each naked fig by imbibing their mistaken turns
into the cotton headed sighs of unloved mouse trap music. 



My work has been featured on various Netlabels, film experiments, and worldwide radio shows, including BBC6's "Introducing".

Comments

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