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lyrics

a groveling whelp
amidst charred bits
of bedroom
and broken glass
chanting his opus
and conjuring blots of murk
and ectoplasm
disrobed and shaking
grasping at trails of smoke with battered hands
of copper
of lead
of cold sea brine
of days wrapped up in tooth root twine
vestiges lined with rot
near to you begotten one
wander from me
fawn who is wanting
shed your winter hide
and take what you will
snag your hooves on wire fences
bleat until dry
rest beside daughters of lost men
and leave in the night
paw at murk until form gathers
bury it lone
dreams of breath heaving and stagnant
echoes through an empty room
pry my palms from the ashen well
and take what you will

credits

from Murmurs From the Well Nothing More, released September 22, 2015

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Mine Is A Black Mouth Poultney, Vermont

"pure crunch ‘n’ snarl, a harrowing and inspired avalanche of bassy blasting" - Decibel

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