South from Stoveside by Tasha Zappala

Way way south, where the tall limbs call
Fog hangs thick, and the weak light crawls
So old, it went quiet and so cold, you grew tired
 
Of a porch, that won’t see the sun
And these bones, so shaped for one
Darkness blinds, the wind she climbs
The branches ‘tween us silent
 
Nothing I could do, was ever going to change your mind
Darling, let it go, in counting your blessings light

Through the sheltering of trees, and the sweetness of sight
Held, all I was trying to believe, hoping you’d stay
Hoping I’d find
 
 A garden grown, a seedling’s hold
A chance returning fades
Thistle’s hold, blackberry, stone
The shape, of skin remade
 
Way way south, where the tall limbs call
Fog hangs thick, and the weak light calls
Grass grows, deep earth pliant
The skin knows, surrendered, silent
 
Grass grows, deep earth pliant
The skin knows, surrendered, silent

• Alternative
• Blues
• Experimental
• Field Recordings
• Folk
• Soundscapes
• Australia