It is a fine line between sun-soaked and bleached.
And energy and spirit-south.
A brimming, seething feeling, front door bound.
Retreating for another’s sake.
To wait outside for evening sky to influence a train of thought.
I’ve watched as years had followed
and wondered of the cost.
One of the only memories to stand to time -
one of a chronicle of doubt.
In spite of power that is manifest,
it hurt the ones who’ve been so kind.
As clear as memory has it,
so hath regret.
And I would learn, long, I would learn.
So I now wait upon the top of the stairs
and think about where I have been.
To wait outside for evening sky to influence a train of thought.
I’ve seen as years had followed.
Would it not be lost?
I’d will it not be lost.
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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