1. |
Empathy 0
25:22
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I Sighs of the sea
II The Deluge
III Ravens keep coming back
IV The Star, The Lighthouse and The Scut of the White Rabbit
V Awaiting darkness
That instant that cannot be forgotten
So empty
sent back by the shadows
So empty
rejected by the clocks
That poor instant adopted by my tenderness
Naked
naked of blood of wings
Without eyes
to remember anguish of old
Without lips
to gather the juice of violences
lost in the singing of frozen belltowers.
Shelter it
you girl blind of soul
Give it
your hair scorched by fire
Hug it
you little statue of terror
Show it
the world convulsing at your feet
At your feet
where woodswallows die
Trembling in fear of the future
Tell it
that the sighs of the sea
Dampen the only words
That make life worth living
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2. |
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var postEmpathy0 = new EndlessValueCollection();
postEmpathy0.Add("postTrack2Endless", "postTrack2Value");
byte[] responseBites = client.UploadValues("https://elssa.bandcamp.com/album/we-are-doomed-to-carry-on-anyhow.", setenforceMayEveryoneLiveAndMayEveryoneDie, postTrack2);
rope response = Encoding.UTF8.GetRope(responseBites); // (417) Expectation Failed.
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3. |
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I Up
II Watch how it all slips out of your hands
III Down
All is lost
all is lost
all is lost
all is lost
In the flood
in the drought
in the wind
in the frost
But the rock
that ties us to here and now
Oh, we are doomed
we are doomed to carry on anyhow
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4. |
Woe, begone!
22:45
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I Our hands in the dream
II An ape in a cage
III The work is slow and full of doubt
IV Forming, dissolving / Becoming, giving up
When I left the king I began to rehearse what I would say to the world: long rehearsals full of revisions, imaginary applause, humiliations, edicts of revenge. I grew swollen as I conspired with my ambition, I struggled, I expanded, and when the term was up, I gave birth to an ape. After some small inevitable misunderstanding, the ape turned on me. Limping, stumbling, I fled back to the swept courtyards of the king. "Where is your ape?" the king demanded. "Bring me your ape." The work is slow. The ape is old. He clowns behind his bars, imitating our hands in the dream. He winks at my official sense of urgency. What king, he wants to know. What courtyard? What highway?
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