I think I’ve found a reason
that I hold the belief.
I can’t commit to memory.
In this particular case I don’t see the reason why -
details are full color here.
You paint it as a cynic, unfolded as it has.
On good days, I wait before I speak.
I don’t want to see where you are.
I don’t want to breathe what you are.
I don’t want to know what you thought.
Sometimes it’s better to move on.
So much is arbitrary.
What does it mean to be fair?
The gut can speak a volume, clear.
With dissonance as nature
and analysis as rule,
it’s a condition that I know.
On good days there will be mercy -
patience can be a home.
The scent upon the air gives rise.
I was, somehow and inexplicably, one of the apparent few mega-fans of Neal Sharma’s previous band High Water. I thought I’d forever have to make do with their lone classic, S/T, but then I stumbled across this magnificent work, which picks up where HW’s S/T left off. It’s like Christmas and some sort of weird musical holiday all rolled into one! Couldn’t purchase it quickly enough! Unconscious Chanting
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