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I’ll dive from the highest cliff
To feel how night falls,
Just another drop in the chasm.
The ones of ash born
Are met with teeth that sweetly tempered,
A pillar of white in a blackout of knives.
And with their feet firmly planted above
The terra seams, all their lives
Are slowly tunneling out
Their graves beneath.

And I’ll bet you most men met their deaths
With a hushed logic
and more than just the slightest bit of terror,
but what I fear most is this old tether here,
That keeps me from believing in something better.

The cycles of myths,
That catch the taste of every new era.
The billowing tails of grey swerved out of this home.
Can you smell the smoke of a house fire on me?
And the plume that just hung,
As a constant reminder,
Adrift in the air.

Clear as an angel of coal and honey,
Told with a glimmer of truth.
Oh now our winged youth,
Made mine a broken throat,
With ambition lost to the smoke.

I will do as much for my true love,
as any young man may.
I will sit and mourn all on her grave,
For twelve months and the day.


from Terra Traipse, released February 11, 2014



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Our Brother The Native Detroit, Michigan

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