In the deep dark shadow of Mercy, where grim pilgrims bid farewell to their souls we gather weekly ,meekly plotting our way through the cold. We shake off our shackles and bleed into a bubbling cauldron of eclectic RocknRoll. The 5 fingered hand becomes a fist, glides through the purlescent mist and morphs into a white winged bird with devilish eyes.it flies ever higher and mumbles incantations of desire...these are the rumbles from our humble underground choir

MY REGENERATION : This baby seed had memory,memory of the future,it found a shady grove where it could grow and be nurtured,it grew up toward a sky of blue,arching its' back, stretching its' limbs,its' skin covered in microfilm ,inhaling light exhaling purity.After many moons and seasons turned, this tree had reached maturity and under its mighty dome strong boughs branched in all directions,each unique and perfect,all springing from the same source of creation, of regeneration. The trunk sturdy and robust,the branches dancing on the wind, the leaves falling as they must .Many summers passed before the tree bore fruit; new seeds to scatter,new life in form of matter, from years of endeavour, magickal to behold and delicate as a dream, borne on the breeze, floating downstream to places never imagined until the Earth takes hold once more and giant tree,blossom and fruit all return to tiny,fragile seedling and the cycle begins anew,the rhythmical poetry of Life comes tumbling through us all as we shelter neath the mighty boughs of Abundance and Strength.
Please feel free to sway with us a while, to leave a smile and to remember the future beneath our Humble Walsh Nut Tree.

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