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Lyrics inspired by the 'Tao Te Ching', and other things.

lyrics

In the dead of winter
I sometimes wonder for the streams in the trees
And though I've gone now
I often find I've come back

I can still feel the dirt in the lines of my hand
consious and unwavering and fluent and fierce
and the weight of its silence collecting
captivating, dismissive
oak and stone
we feel

To speak of the gods of men is to speak of men themselves
strange to imagine and artist concerned only with a small corner of the page
larger more terrible forces rumble here and the ether
screams their names into forever
irrational numbers and cacophony aumuse the oblique
acute drones rattle off strings and Klein bottles like numbers themselves

In the dead of winter
I sometimes wonder for the streams in the trees
And though I've gone now
I often find I've come back

Seldom compromised
vacuum between the lines
sacred parallel
teardrops in a well

Clay forms pots
but on their hollowness their use depends
but I don't care to speak about it

credits

from The Smoking Mirror, released October 18, 2012

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Watershed Drag Edinboro, Pennsylvania

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