Includes unlimited streaming of Song (After Nature Past)/Song (After Nature Future) [single]
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
There's something in the wind,
you can feel it blowing in.
It's coming in softly on the wings of a song.
It’s a new forbidden knowledge
of the past and the future, a knowledge of you.
Our sweet-song will proudly deliver this to you
because we understand your story,
and we can sing it, irresistibly,
exceptionally effectively, back to you.
7 out of 10 seekers after understanding agree,
that you will never be less than 83% understood
if you listen to our song.
Baby, can't you hear we’re calling?
(Excuse the familiarity, but these are the
words of our song).
Now stop your ship and listen to our voices.
We know you need our knowledge.
Here’s a taste:
The past.
A remote island castle,
The Lady of the Castle is playing her cello
for the Gentleman of the Castle,
and the islanders outside, listening in.
The Gentleman is transported by the music,
by his framed scenes of nature, by his country life.
“You make me so happy,” he thinks of it all,
“it turns back to sad”.
The future.
A remote island castle,
Haunted by the noisy ghost of the natural world.
Because this future is after nature, after the Loss.
There is the shade-voiced sound of a cello.
Objects lifted by phantom hands,
loudspeakers, pictures, words,
left stranded, beached like tide wrack.
Nature speaks through these drones and debris,
in this future, drones and debris are all that’s left.
(We have one mournful call that says all of this,
but this translation does not do it justice).
There it is, baby. Only we can show you this.
The past and the future.
We live there.
Out across the island the skylarks were singing
high over fields still wearing their winter drabness
before new growth started to green the landscape.
The ground was springy at the island’s edges,
textured by the continued layering
and retreating of salt water.
The sea was the alchemist
that wove together this ever-shifting land
of tumbled rock, moss, saltmarsh-grass,
and all the other wind-stirred lives that dwelled in it.
It was all beyond you.
We know. We understand.
We know about your struggles for survival
in dark demonic landscapes.
Spooked at the laments of the distant beasts,
you tried to master them, and your own inner nature.
But you could never feel at home.
And now, from where we are, there’s no home left.
We are not indifferent to your pain. (Our pain!)
We will make it all right again.
(This may sound unrealistic, but hear us out.)
We will return you to paradise.
We will take you home.
We are not human, but we have human voices.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star.”
We can sing your songs as well as our own.
“How I wonder what you are.”
Those of us caught in fragments of fishing nets
sing an especially longing-dying song,
a most binding and entangling song that ensnares
(like the strangling tackle
that lacerates our necks).
Sung from a flowery field (of bleach-bones).
Not bones, sorry, what? Moans. No. Tones.
Tones that will lure you to your home (slash doom).
No! We miss-sing, too many voices,
nothing doom-like will happen!
These are the words of our
song of a future haunting,
luring you to a honeyed knowledge (death).
Sorry (we ain’t sorry).
(You think that this all makes sense, and that
our snare-song can be mastered by human words?
Sorry to disappoint, but…) What? Nothing!
This song will transform you. (Into whitened bones.
And we ain’t sorry. Hell no.) Really, we are sorry.
Trust in us. We trust in you!
There's something in the wind,
we can feel it blowing in
(and it's coming in strong).
Catch a wave and take in the sweetness,
(think about it, the darkness, the deepness).
You found this, you need this.
Are you ready for it?
Take a deep breath, baby,
let us in.
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