Ebony streams, forensic ecstacy.
Infinite leaves, violet controversy.
(One to nine now in the same line.)
Meadow of flames, embers of sympathy.
Surprisingly, you’re my theocracy.
(One to nine now in half time.)
The symbolistic symphony, the ultimate biography,
The mist that must be cleansed to save us from the tide!
When will you see you’re not the only one that’s bound in words.
The holding place for all you believe is waiting underneath the world.
Plutonic words of vast colatitude.
A weeping void, intrinsic interlude.
The flaming rain, at crimson altitude.
Anatomy of drifting solitude.
(One to nine now in half time.)
Within fluidic sanctitude, we’ll save the best ‘til last for you,
This cist must be removed. Nine lives and still you lose!
When will you see you’re not the only one that’s bound in words.
The holding place for all you believe is waiting underneath the world.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 GO!
When will you see you’re not the only one that’s bound in words.
The holding place for all you believe is waiting underneath the world.
credits
from Self-Titled,
released February 14, 2014
Music by T. Jennings-Bates/Keltik Fish
Words by T.Jennings-Bates/Keltik Fish
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