[the bright hours] [mp3]	no words were penned by those luminous hands, some time was kept from your calling. that was heard so deep, in the hours. none no more will keep, of this day. the seminal rot, the fading of stones. some lives are leaves in your falling. some lives leave in element need, ripped and stricken, brought to your knees. praying for days but left crawling. all words have stemmed from those rudiment plans, innumerous years past your falling. that was heard so deep, in the hours. none no more will keep, of this day. a precarious lot, the ashing of bone. some lives are knights at your dawning. some lives weave as elements bleed, sallied and sickened, heavy with seed. praying for days, ever sprawling. and in the light of it all, when our fate stood so tall, it was so bright!
[passing to night] traditional	oh fair ye well, i must be gone and leave you for awhile. but wherever i go, i will return if i go ten thousand miles. all that distance is not so far, to leave me here alone. whilst i my lie, lament and cray and you will not hear my moan. oh don't you see that milk-white dove sitting on yonder tree? lamenting for her own true love as i lament for thee. and while i may lie, lament and cry - the color it changes to white. and if i ever prove false to thee, the day it will change into night. it's said in the summer that - it can't run dry. but how much more can it take? a dark looms over this milk-white dove, a wonderous fool it will make. the crow is so black my dear, shall change his color to white. and if i ever prove false to thee the day it will change to night. the river never will run dry nor the rocks melt with the sun and i'll never prove false to thee til all these things be done.
[XXXVI] inspired by h.p. lovecraft XXXVI [continuity] [mp3]	there is in certain things a trace. of some dim essence more than form or weight. a tenuous aether, indeterminate, yet linked with all the laws of time and space. a faint, veiled sign of continuities that outward eyes could never quite descry. of locked dimensions harbouring years gone by, and out of reach except for hidden keys. it moves me most when slanting sunbeams glow, on old farm buildings set against a hill. and paint with life the shapes that linger still, from centuries less a dream than this we know. in that strange light i feel i'm not so far, from the fixt mass whose sides the ages are!