Garden from Lonesome Son by I Am the Albatross

Remember when the world began?
And it was just you and me
In a little garden, in the middle of the sea?
Never speak of the starving times
Never speak of the cries.
Never speak of the howling winds
Never speak of the lie.

Man was made to labor on
Through centuries in broken glass
Sons born of the wilderness and spread across the land.
The roots that run the valley low
Are soaked in offerings of salt
The idols sit atop the thrones and watch the darkening sand.

We scrawled upon the cavern walls
As wanderers out in the West
Laid down in the riverlands and dreamed an endless prayer.
And from the caves and hollows there
We listened as the hunger grew
For a voice upon the hallowed wind
But there was nothing there.

We shall not rise up, for our will has gone
And our spoiled seed will bloody the fields eternally.
Cast away now, driven from our home
And so our progeny will scorch the seas
And sew a bloody seed
In fields, eternally.

And when the howling winds
Had torn the hinges off the gates
With shoulders heaved and dripping paws
In crept the wailing night.
The fountains and the wishing wells
The treeless hills and stagnant pools
Dreams are made to hide away
To never see the light.

• Eden
• Gothic-Folk
• Heavy-Americana
• Rock
• Western-Psychedelic
• adam
• dirty-blues
• eve
• garage
• garden
• Austin