where flowers bloom like accidents

[psycrow]

сущий восторг от арт-роковых/пост-роковых канадцев.


("Kollaps Tradixionales", 2011)

lightning said to thunder:
"go on swinging like the pounding rain,
swing your blues like a hammer,
ride your boy like a shuddering train!
go on, swing the ocean full!
go on, swing the bending trees!
swing it with a heart that bursts
and shine your light on everything!
let your good-foot swing and shake! and shake! and shake!"

i'm 'piphany rambler,
i ramble all day,
'piphany rambler,
don't take these blues away.

up is lovely,
down is too,
it's its own peculiar labour when you're not able to.

lay in the fire a while,
lay in the fire a while,
lay in the fire a while,
lay in the fire a while.

don't sleep,
don't sleep,
don't sleep,
and then sleep.

tore a cloud and three birds fell,
3 birds fell and then it rained,
we crawled upside that mountain,
down its ass and back again.

this tiny garden that we tend,
where flowers bloom like accidents,
let's lay awhile and slowly wend through days as long as nights we spent hanging on.
great furrows in the pavement where our hooves strove to leap
square men in the courtyard, engines idling.

we've seen those impossible mountains,
we've seen that upward rain,
entire bibles full of broken things,
dark and wide as empty graves.

thunder said to the lightning,
"let your good-foot swing, go down to the valley, and shine your light on everything."

lightning said to thunder,
"go on swinging like the pounding rain, swing your blues like a hammer, ride your boy like a shuddering train, go on, swing the ocean full, go on swing the bending trees, swing it with a heart that bursts and shine your light on everything, let your good-foot swing and shake! and shake! and shake! and shake!"

i'm 'piphany rambler,
i ramble all day.
epiphany ramber,
don't take these blues away.

up is lovely,
down is too,
it's its own peculiar labour when you're not able to.

lay in the fire a while,
lay in the fire a while,
lay in the fire a while,
lay in the fire a while.

don't sleep,
don't sleep,
don't sleep,
and the sleep.

(i've heard tell at the boring gates of hell that there ain't nothing dear, but there is too much dear, but there is too much dear, yeah there is too much dear...)

@темы: Rock, a silver mt. zion, Post-rock