1. |
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Tender of the herd, protect the path
Bring us safely to the void
O, Apollo, bless that mysterious wrath
Of worlds untold, our fog destroyed
Defender of the young, expel the veil
Our children flee to fields unknown
O, Apollo, bless their wandering trail to
Their Hyperborean home
Peering through the porthole glass
Awful witness, silent craft
Lone and near, yet worlds apart
Glorious steps, glorious heart
Healer of the plague, commend the land
Alight our feet upon the moons
O, Apollo, bless our outstretched hands
Grant us keys to heaven’s rooms
Peering through the porthole glass
Awful witness, silent craft
Lone and near, yet worlds apart
Glorious steps, glorious heart
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2. |
Child of the South
03:54
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Heavy is the heart that waits, the heart that waits for the stream
Heavy is the heart that waits, the heart that waits amidst the storm.
We will cross over to those silent shores where the feast and the fire await,
but the beast remains and he's overgrown,
lying in the weeds in the dark of your house
Heavy is the heart that waits, the heart that waits for the stream
Heavy is the heart that waits, the heart that waits amidst the storm.
If I could bear to see like the child of the South,
I would call to sleep those ghosts that are driving you now
If I could learn to speak with the curated tongue,
I would tell you that everything's gonna come back around
In an instant a life, like a dream, was woken up
but your heart, but your heart wants to sleep
Heavy is the heart that waits, the heart that waits for the stream
Heavy is the heart that waits, the heart that waits amidst the storm.
The ghost in your house, she speaks by the hour
she speaks with a voice that was culled from the immaculate soul
In her whispers, you just make it out,
she calls on the saints that rejoiced as he was pulled from upstairs
ears still ring though it's quieter now
it sleeps in the deep like the heart that remembers him now.
and it's a heavy heart.
Heavy is the heart that waits, the heart that waits amidst the storm.
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3. |
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come and find me in the window
I'll wait till the evening comes
dark is the nightmare
and gone is your ghost
come and find me in the branches
I'll wait till the days grow long
harrowed the affliction
and torn is your soul
the West Wind blows to its close
you're comatose; always in the throes
come and find me in the waters
I'll wait till the depths of woe
dark is the silence
and gone is your ghost
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Sea of Fog Montgomery, Alabama
Baroque Surf Folk from the American South
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