New Death Cab album helps unearth local man's blog. Story at 11.

Long time no see.


Death Cab For Cutie has a new album out. It's called Narrow Stairs and I'm going to tell you what I think of it. No one asked me. Now they don't have to.

I started listening to Death Cab in the period between Transatlanticism and Plans. What that says to most Death Cab fans is that I started listening during their transition from indie icon to major label sellout. This assessment is unfair and frankly is the reason why indie bands have so much trouble lasting.

I wasn't around for the fan response to Transatlanticism, but I distinctly remember a huge number of people abandoning ship when Plans was released. I always wondered how this could be true since Plans contains some of the most poignant moments in their catalogue (moments like "What Sarah Said" and "I will Follow You into the Dark"). I couldn't understand how those songs could be considered part of a sellout process. People generally decided that there wasn't as much emotion behind the songs on Plans. I think those people need to listen harder. However, having heard this new album I can see to a greater extent why people say that Plans was not Death Cab at their best.

Those vocal Death Cab purists should be appeased if not silenced by Narrow Stairs. This is an album packed with heartbreak and lovelessness expressed in a familiar (though renewed) Ben Gibbard style. What I love about Gibbard's lyrics is that he is never satisfied with expressing a commonplace love story, and this is more evident on Narrow Stairs than ever before. He writes in vignettes, using nameless characters as means to portray an aspect of being lonely or being heartbroken that hasn't been explored. Whether it be in the first person or the omniscient, he twists his lovers until they are profound. This ability to be literary while not losing the structure and the method of songwriting is something that Gibbard shares with some of the best musicians in history. It is also an ability that is sorely lacking among songwriters today, which is why it is so refreshing that (despite being on a major label) Chris Walla produced bands like Death Cab and The Decemberists continue to push forward.

Transatlanticism is not entirely dark, but its centerpiece, "Tiny Vessels" may be the song that is most representative of Gibbard's ability to be dark without losing his listeners' attention. However, "Tiny Vessels" and most of the rest of Transatlanticism are significant for their lack of studio production. From the first few wispy synth chords on "Marching Band of Manhattan," Plans was an experiment for guitarist/producer Chris Walla. Some said that it proved that the production sheen of major labels doesn't fit with Death Cab's sound. Narrow Stairs shows that this is not true. Death Cab can use synthesized noise to express themselves just as easily as they can use heavy distortion. In fact, the manner in which the sheer amount of instrumentation drowns out the lyrics and melodies in this new album should remind Death Cab listeners of similar moments on Transatlanticism.

I hope that this album shuts people up who say that Ben Gibbard has been sucked into the major label underworld. In my mind this album makes it clear that you have to give a band an album to find their sea legs when they switch to a major label instead of judging them so quickly. Once again, Death Cab shows us the way.

The Rocket Falls to Earth

Hey folks.

I've just spent the last hour or so watching the career of Roger Clemens sink like a brick in the Hudson River. It hurts me deeply to see the greatest pitcher of my lifetime be reduced to fighting for his credibility in front of Congress, but it hurts me even more that he is so clearly guilty.

Here is what would have to be true for Roger Clemens to be innocent of steroid abuse:

Brian McNamee and Andy Petite would have to have been coerced into bringing down Roger Clemens. As far as I can tell, they have no personal motive in lying to Congress, so there would have to be some esoteric agenda behind it all. The congress would have to be conspiring to end steroid abuse by bringing down the most legendary player of a generation with fabricated evidence. Even though I am sure Congress is capable of such a conspiracy, it requires a major suspension of disbelief when the surface explanation is so straightforward. Bottom line: Why would Congress need to frame an innocent man if steroids is such a problem? If steroids really are as pervasive as the Mitchel Report suggests, Congress should have plenty of other options of guilty players to bring down.

I guess the point is that we may never know the truth from a legal standpoint. In the opening statements of the Clemens Congressional Hearing it was clear that this was a case of Roger Clemens' word versus those of Brian McNamee and Andy Petite. Regardless of whether there are punitive measures taken against Roger Clemens, his career has already been marred by the accusation and his complete inability to prove his innocence with anything other than hearsay. A verdict of "not guilty" would translate into "there isn't enough direct evidence to show that Roger Clemens is guilty." The Rocket has spent his career in orbit and is burning up upon reentry.

Why it hurts:
Roger Clemens is an icon. I remember seeing an article years ago that detailed the legendary Clemens workout. I remember seeing the interviews with much younger players who went down to Houston to Rocket's gym and tried to keep up with him and unanimously declared that it was the hardest workout they've ever participated in. That was a different Roger Clemens. In the eyes of the world, that was the Roger Clemens that accepted no excuses, that exemplified what hard work could accomplish in a sport that was beginning to strike down its heroes (Mark McGwire, Rafael Palmeiro, etc.).

It wasn't real.

I feel like I've just been told that there's no Santa Clause. Sean, there isn't a man who can magically make every child on earth happy in one night. Also, Sean, there's no way that a 40+ year-old pitcher who has been throwing fastballs for twenty years can still be magically dominant in the twilight of his career. Not without cheating.

It makes my stomach turn to think that when I visit Cooperstown with my father when he is getting old, and we walk together down the hall of gilded plaques that show the players whose careers require no asterisks, Roger Clemens will be conspicuously absent. If Barry Bonds is there and Roger Clemens isn't, I'm not sure if my heart will be able to take it.

Why it helps:
However unfortunate it may be, this is what baseball needs in order to get past steroids. Roger Clemens must be made into an example. Steroids, like every other drug, lift you high enough so that you shatter when you fall. Young players should be made to watch how Roger Clemens tumbles just at the insinuation of his guilt. In the end, the Rocket will retain nothing. No one can deny that Roger Clemens had a certain amount of natural power, perhaps more than any pitcher in history other than Nolan Ryan, but in the end he will be given credit for no piece of it. The reward for steroid abuse at any point is to be embarrassed in front of Congress and in front of every person who ever held you up above themselves. Baseball must undergo this type of painful surgery until its cancer cannot redevelop. Break the game down so that it can be built back up stronger than it was before.

What I hope for:
When I go to Cooperstown on that beautiful summer day in the future, perhaps with my father on one side and my son on the other, I hope the truth is there to be seen. I hope that Major League Baseball will not purge this chapter of their history from view to save face, but instead will openly document and showcase it. I hope there will be an Asterisk Room. Perhaps they could place in that room an iron plaque for each of the players who played the game with skill but without dignity. There I could show my son the faces of The Black Sox, Pete Rose, Mark McGwire, Rafael Palmeiro, Barry Bonds and, sadly enough, Roger Clemens. This would be the room for players who represent baseball's missteps; players who exhibit the fact that our national pastime is just as morally fragile and subject to temptation as the nation that created it. That is the lesson that I want Major League Baseball to embrace. That is what I want my children to see when they are learning what cheating really means.

I hope Congress gets back to fixing the country soon. Until next time.

A Prayer for My Generation

Sunsets past my windowsill are racing
Pausing not for reason nor consent
Captive in the camps of time I’m pacing
To and fro on floors I must invent

That which I cannot explain is rising
Mounting on itself around my feet
Wakened is the age of compromising
Harken to the demagogue’s retreat!

Slowly are the mirrored clouds unfolding
My empyrean a solid shell
Heaven do I search for in beholding
Images wrought only of myself.

Fear of darkness is the inspiration
On the prowl within my sanity
Equally I fear illumination
Blinded by deciding not to see

Solving and dissolving is my fashion
Stabbing at elusive synthesis
Howling from the gallery in passion
Selfish in pursuit of selflessness.

I direct my prayer to nameless specters
Hoping not that they will answer me
Silence is my life-sustaining nectar
Solace rests in my uncertainty.

I want not to know what governs essence
Mystery to me is purity
Earth wants only earthly acquiescence
I am not divine nor want to be.

Pray I, then, into the shapeless moonlight,
Nought but sunlight from another day,
Anxious, as a player asks a playwright
For his motivation, this I pray:

May my mind be solely my dominion
Hard, impervious to gilded prose.
Suffer not the murder, rather pinion
To the floor the galvanizing crows.

May my body thrive in the evading
Of the war my spirit will not wage
With the voices of the rhetors fading
Leaving lecterns barren on the stage

May my soul in darkness be resilient
Asking nothing but for unity
Settle me upon a plane so brilliant
That my spirit needs not eyes to see.

So it's McCain.

The next few weeks are going to be very important in McCain's rhetoric. If he plans to win the right-leaning Democrats and the center, he is going to have to find a social and domestic agenda strong enough to counteract his position on Iraq. It's amazing to me that we are even still talking about Iraq as a sustainable war, but it is also clear that the right is not going to change that position. I am concerned that if any other parts of the Middle East become unstable to the point where we feel threatened it will spread our troops so thin that the draft will be back on the table as a solution. I don't think it's beyond any of the candidates on either side to take that action, but I think McCain would do so with the least provocation.

As for the other issues, the ones that the Iraq war have continuously distracted us from, I don't even know what McCain has to say on them. It seems to me that if he is going to support the continuation of war and deem himself a conservative at the same time, he is going to have to engage in major budget changes that will destroy some of the social programs that liberals hold dear. All I know is that the spending has to stop or we are going to be undone before my generation even fully takes over. We will have no money left to throw at our domestic needs and will be quick to resort to patchwork solutions while borrowing from the world with no intention of paying up.

class time.

Another day in Democracy

Super Tuesday has come and gone.

I will be voting for Obama if he wins the Democratic nomination.

I need to see how Hillary Clinton plans to unify the nation if I am going to put any support her way. I feel that it has been cliche among the right-wing populous to hate Hillary, and I need to know how she plans on overcoming that and jolting this nation out of its governmental paralysis.

Seeing Obama achieve such success in the Democratic party shows that he can speak the language of the liberals, but in order for him to win the general election he has to speak the languages of both sides of the aisle. I don't think Clinton is qualified to bring people together.

Also, I find his lack of executive experience endearing. I would rather vote for a candidate that gives me hope for the nation at large than for a candidate that gives me security that the donkey will prevail.

I have often said that I would consider voting for McCain if I didn't believe in the Democrats. I don't think that's the case any longer. I like his moderate nature, but the conservative side of him is just too strong for me. Then again, he's been trying to win Republican votes in recent speeches. Maybe he'll change his tune once he wins the primary.

Ron Paul, despite being on the opposite end of the spectrum from me by party affiliation, has given me a reason to believe that fiscal conservatism in its pure form, uncorrupted by corporate interests, can be powerful. If there's anything I know it is that we have to stop spending so much money if we are going to see such lackluster results.

I hope Obama is listening to Ron Paul like I am. They can learn from each other.

The best part is, no one knows that better than Barack Obama.

Class time. Paz.

The Dying Album

Welcome back, blog. I hope my poetry didn't make you feel used. I'm back with things to say.

Starting with:

The sales numbers from 2007 paint a gloomy picture for the music industry. According to an article dated January 10th in “The Economist,” music industry giants like EMI are concerned that the money the industry can count on from paid digital music downloads in coming years is not enough to keep the industry afloat through unprecedented drops in physical CD sales. However, the digital music revolution has another more important casualty: the album itself.

What our generation needs to ask itself is what the purpose of music will be in the digital age. If music exists only to entertain, then so be it. Carry on, Soulja Boy. But if music exists to respond to and ultimately alter our society, as I like to think it does, then the album is the forum for that dialogue, not the single.

The truly great musicians of the 20th century were separated from the commercial flash-in-pans by their ability to write cohesive and influential albums. Take, for example, The Beatles. Imagine for a moment that John, Paul, George and Ringo had retired to the English countryside to count their riches after their Help! album and before Rubber Soul. They would have been written into pop-culture lore much the way contemporaries like The Dave Clark Five and The Monkees were. Instead, they began basing their albums around the idea that the music industry can make a statement with albums while also selling singles, and as a result they became (arguably) the most influential band in (arguably) the most influential decade in the history of music.

Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited, The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street, U2's The Joshua Tree. These are the albums that helped make mainstream music a medium of social change rather than a form of escapism. Since the early 1980’s, specifically with the release of Def Leppard’s Hysteria, the single has taken over the most innovative and experimental parts of music, making the 1990’s a sea of decent singles on mediocre or downright bad albums (with a few glimmering exceptions like Jeff Buckley’s Grace and The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill). Alternative’s focus on the single and the rise of hip-hop as the dominant genre on the radio waves have given the music industry a license to stop finding musicians capable of writing the next great album.

Even hip-hop, which for better or for worse has always been a singles industry, has its definitive albums. The artists that changed the game in hip-hop did so not just with brilliant hooks but with powerful concepts extended into albums (see first: Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold us Back). There isn’t a single genre in music that hasn’t been subject to the album’s power to drive movements. The album gives an artist a broad canvass on which to leave their mark, while the single is bogged down and distorted by marketability, music-videos and merchandising.

Part of the problem exists in the way iTunes and other download services have changed the consumer. For the casual music listener, the ability to buy good singles for $0.99 is a major money-saver (especially today, when hardly any mainstream artists are putting out entire albums of good material). Consumers are apt to assume that the extra $8 they would spend to own the entire album is a waste. However, without any consumer interest in the album, what motivation do the record labels have to encourage artists to write sophisticated albums?
As an example of this problem I take Justin Timberlake's release in 2007, FutureSex/Love Sounds. The singles from this album were generally of a higher quality than the songs that surrounded them on the radio at the time. "Sexyback" and "My Love" had a fresh and innovative sound that showed a new level of maturity in both JT's songwriting and Timbaland's production, and "What Goes Around Comes Around," although more predictable and effectively ruined by its half-rap-half-song third act, nevertheless was of a unique hue that made it tolerable. Even I was excited about the release of the album. In fact, it was the first album I actually purchased from the iTunes store. However, the album that enveloped those singles is comparatively weak. It is full of annoying and stagnant songs that each drag out a minute longer than they need to. Also, despite his commendable efforts in the singles, the rest of the album exposed JT as a mediocre and at times intolerably bad lyricist. Although lots of iTunes customers bought the full album, it probably taught a lot of them that buying the entire album is usually not worth it (as it did for me with regards to modern R&B).

My question is: where is the next great album going to come from? Sure there are underground rappers that have written great albums in the last few years (Madvillain, Mos Def, Dead Prez, etc.) but many of those albums are still based around the idea that a few good singles can be extended into an album by adding skits and other fillers. I would argue that less mainstream music has given us some great albums in recent years as well (Death Cab For Cutie's Transatlanticism, Stars' Nightsongs, Imogen Heap's Speak For Yourself, Radiohead's...well...everything Radiohead), but because of the nature of the industry none of these albums have reached the level of sales that the great bands of the 20th century did.

In order to further illustrate that the album is dying, I want to go back to The Beatles and back to the hypothetical. Let's pretend The Beatles were trying to market The White Album as new music in today's musical culture. In order to do this we have to suspend our disbelief a lot, since it is doubtful that any of the songs that were huge from The White Album in the late 1960's would be popular on today's radio, but that's why this is a hypothetical. The Beatles released "Hey Jude" as a single from the White Album sessions, but it wasn't on the album. In fact, "Hey Jude" wasn't on any album. It's b-side was the popular version of "Revolution," a slower version of which appears on the second half of the second disc of The White Album. Those singles would have been bought up in massive numbers in the iTunes store as they received radio play all over the country, and perhaps some consumers would have loved the songs enough to anxiously await the release of the album. However, what are the odds that today's music fans would pay more than $20 for the 30-track complete 2-disc album?

I think the sales of The White Album would have been significantly lower in today's market. In fact, there is a good possibility that the project would not exist in its 30-track form and instead would have been divided into several releases, or that consumers would be content with not owning the songs they had not heard on the radio or through word-of-mouth distribution. Can you imagine a world in which Beatles fans did not own a copy of "Blackbird"? What about songs like "Dear Prudence" and "Martha, My Dear"? I shudder at the thought.

Of course, I am leaving out factors like The Beatles immense popularity before The White Album's release and the incredible success of "Hey Jude" as a single, but the fact remains that the techniques used today would have greatly hindered the distribution of the project.
I want to believe that if record executives were presented with a body of work as brilliant as The White Album, they would find a way to get the music heard, even if it meant compromising some of the marketing principles that the digital music revolution is based on. I just can't be sure that they would make that effort when money is so readily available in the business of recycling abysmal pop.

I see the inevitable result of this shift being a singles culture that is irreversibly based on image and immediate satisfaction; an culture where danceability takes precedence over intelligent songwriting; a culture that no longer aims to find the next Brian Wilson, Jimi Hendrix or Marvin Gaye but rather is content to find the next pretty face to superimpose on the same old beats.

The album is being replaced as the primary vehicle for music distribution, and I believe that its demise will make music of quality much harder to come by, especially in genres like progressive rock that are traditionally album-based. It will be up to our generation to find a way to a) keep the album alive by encouraging artists like Radiohead that break free of major-label standards and find their own means of distribution, or b) find a way to perpetuate innovation and experimentation in music without the use of the album.


Until next time.

"Heaven is a Wishing Well," Final Draft

Caldo: Wishing Well

A temple in the valley stops
The flow of water to the crops
That feed the builders on the platform
Sinewy and glassy black

By the night the moonlight teasing
As the temple guards lay freezing.
At the dawn they’ll take to wheezing
Begging God to send them back.

With leprosy the old priest rots
He, watching as the guards draw lots
Cries Caldo! Gelo! Fear ye Hell!
For heaven is a wishing well!

Your money won’t your wheezing quell
For heaven is a wishing well.

As builders mix the temple plaster,
Praying makes the work go faster.
Sunset brings the earthly master
Shouting from his dinner tent,

God! bless the ashen stones of which we
Build this house of thine so quickly
Toil ‘til He sounds the bell,
But heaven is a wishing well!

Toil ‘til he sounds the bell,
But heaven is a wishing well!

With hands and lungs and hearts of stone
And chisels wrought of camel bone
You earn your passage to the throne
Along my pious parallel!

The priest’s afflicted temple wilts
Both cavernous and filled with guilt
Still goes he forth with tithes to sell
But heaven is a wishing well.

Caldo! Gelo! Fear ye Hell!
But heaven is a wishing well.

*

Caldo I

Priest, before your tongue has spoken
Take your crucifix and cloak him
Underneath your foreign raiment
And your motive then proclaim.

Your majesty benevolent!
I bear a message heaven-sent
For your damnation to prevent
And life eternal to reclaim!

I ask you, priest, to spare me sermons
Here your dictums need determine
What my court can hope to gain
By joining ranks in your campaign.

Sovereignty will I retain
By joining ranks in your campaign?

My liege, you’ve guessed my origin
I represent the realm wherein
The faith is deep invested in
Taxation of the indigent;

The lords and wellborn there contrive
To have the masses paying tithes
For their salvation to attain
By joining ranks in our campaign,

And you can tax your whole domain
By joining ranks in our campaign!

Taxation is your first decree
And we collect a modest fee
For payment of a company
Of guards the order to maintain,

Then you will stand upon our wings
Of power, wrought of sovereign kings,
The lucre richening your reign
By joining ranks with our campaign.

Collection plates and creed ordained
By joining ranks with our campaign!

*

Caldo II

Then, with his purpose met, the priest
Commands his tired horses east,
To regions ripe to follow suit
And rulers not yet resolute.

One hand it takes to strike accords,
And make of nations willful wards.
One hand outstretched will see its pay,
But two hands does it take to pray.

The priest is paid a vast commission
From each sovereign land’s addition.
In his sleep he spies the gates,
But money cannot pay the fates

In dreams his vindication waits
But money cannot pay the fates.

One hand it takes to hold the fee
In specie for delivery,
But he who holds will rue the day,
For two hands does it take to pray.

One day the sun beats just for him,
And pangs of conscience burn his skin.
His guilt arises much too late,
For money cannot pay the fates.

A scanty storm won’t irrigate,
And money cannot pay the fates.

The priest falls into deep malaise,
And by the road his body lays
For hours turning into days,
No faith his ailment to abate.

A fever clutches at his head
While boils make his palms burn red.
He staggers to the city gates,
But money cannot pay the fates.

So heavy his collection plates,
But money cannot pay the fates.

*

Gelo I

Tell me while your father sleeps
From whom your marriage hand he keeps,
And at the risk of his indictment,
Show me favor in the night!

The eyes of barons, dukes and dons
And all we lowborn peasant pawns
Have found milady, shackles on
And wanting passion to requite.

The king, your father, makes us sweat
Upon his land, but he can bet
On rebels being made of men
For all can change by summer’s end.

On rebels being made of men
But all can change by summer’s end

But over you the rebels sigh
And bring their flutes and lyres nigh
To play until their cups run dry,
For you their anger circumvents.

I among them was beseechéd:
Climb until your walls I reachéd.
Find if you are foe or friend,
For all can change by summer’s end.

Find if you are foe or friend,
For all can change by summer’s end.

So to our sun I knelt and prayed,
And gen’rous sacrifice I made,
And with my bovine homage paid,
I climbed among the highland wind.

That wind inside the trees was stirred,
And in its whispering I heard
Of rebels being made of men,
That all will change by summer’s end.

Of rebels being made of men,
That all will change by summer’s end.

*

Gelo II

Your father feigns epiphany,
And cries unanswered litany,
And sends out his uncompromising
Servants for to proselytize.

A sacrilege has he asserted,
Having none of us converted:
Have our rightful gods deserted
For this heathen enterprise!

Abandoned we’d be by their power!
Given not the rain to flower
Or the sun to call our lord,
The darkness would be our reward.

Without the sun to call our lord,
The darkness would be our reward.

I was charged a war to render,
But mine eyes knew not your splendor!
Beauty’s made this rebel tender,
Apt my aim to reinvent.

So what, my splendid maid, pray speak
Thinks you of what your father seeks?
Do you believe the sun’s our lord,
And darkness will be our reward?

Do you believe the sun’s our lord,
And darkness will be our reward?

Dear rebel, I am faithful to
The gods and goddesses we knew,
And if I’m queen we’ll always do
The sacrifice the sun’s implored,

But if my father wills me wed
A nobleman of heathen head,
The heir will be a half-sin ward,
And darkness will be our reward!

The sun will cease to be our lord,
And darkness will be our reward!

*

Gelo III

I fear as well this bloodline fate,
Starvation of the pious state,
So I propose my rebel lady
That you not remain a maid.

If, in rebellion, love we shared
To bring into the world an heir
And raised him in the temple where
This sacrilege he could evade,

Then we could slay this growing beast,
Your predecessor and his priest,
And bounteous would be the land
For generations by your hand.

And bounteous would be the land
For generation by your hand.

Oh shocking infidelity!
The politics of cruelty!
Good rebel can you swear to me
That virtuous is your intent?

My oath is but a word to thee,
But swear I do on righteous knee
That bounteous will be the land
For generations by your hand.

That bounteous will be the land
For generations by your hand.

Then take me in insurgent sheets
And to your work I thou entreat:
To place upon my father’s seat
The produce of our parlous plan,

But always let me see your face
To show the truth in your embrace,
And bounteous will be the land
For generations by your hand.

And bounteous will be the land
For generations by your hand.

*

Gelo IV

Standing silent and abreast
The temple guards are not to rest
Amidst this storm of unrelenting
Indignation and dissent,

For now, unsanctioned by the king
The people form a battle ring,
And sacrifices do they bring
To stimulate the pyre’s scent.

For on the temple balcony,
A cross now on his livery,
While on his face a smile cracks,
The king sits counting up the tax.

The devil covering his tracks,
The king sits counting up the tax.

But with his daughter’s door neglected,
Bolted not and unprotected,
Scandal slips in undetected
With an ardor quite unbent.

Counting out his ample ration,
Knowing nothing of the passion,
Ignorant of zealous acts,
The king sits counting up the tax.

The devil covering his tracks,
The king sits counting up the tax.

How deeply past and future cleave
When rebel bodies interweave!
The lovers pushing to conceive
The future on their nail-scratched backs!

And with her chamber all but vacant
She, to fill the oath they’d taken
Shows him to the armor racks
The king still counting up the tax...

And he, unflinching, picks an axe
The king still counting up the tax.

*

Gelo: The Dawn

Nightjars bellow through the trees
Their predatory reveries
For those that toil in the twisting
Reeds that wade in morning mist,

Another summer night the guards
Have sung the verses of the bards
While thinking of the softly starred
Horizon and the maids they’ve kissed

But day invades to show the act!
They wake to find the temple sacked
And natives on the outer lawn
In eerie reverence for the dawn.

And scores of natives on the lawn
In eerie reverence for the dawn.

The sky was painted o’er with clouds
And through his gagging and his shroud
One guard invokes his faith aloud
But finds his hope and voice are spent.

The other cries in sharp disdain,
Rebellion does not bring the rain!
But all continued looking on
In eerie reverence for the dawn.

The silent natives looking on
In eerie reverence for the dawn.

Then unannounced the arrows arced
And with their vision growing dark,
The guardsmen spied a mighty barque
To sail them forth to Avalon.

The clouds that circled overhead
The dawn had softly tinted red.
They set to work with sickles drawn
In eerie reverence for the dawn.

Down to their fields with sickles drawn
In eerie reverence for the dawn.


* * *