We have some spare records, album was designed and recorded to be listened to on vinyl.
Also, just email us and you can get a copy of B sides for free with this purchase.
Includes unlimited streaming of When I Held The Blue Jewel Of My Heart
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The worst violence from my hands was the act with the rock that smashed
the living being breathless, 3 times lifted and brought down until breathless
so I know your violence, though I don’t condone this
the child’s fearful act to impress upon his peers
the sycophant promise, supplicant beneath his perceived superior
the bully who is the mirror, not destiny but looking back, a clean hand to orchestrate the act
the breathless blood to flow, who stood on the concepts of power only he could bestow
and so,
3 times lifted, 3 times terror, and 3 times thrown
that boy that bully will masquerade until deaths dying day
and in their years won’t change, won’t turn to face
the masked fear that seeks to blind, seeks to estrange
and yes, maybe their souls will be weighed, and maybe they will pay for the path they have paved
but that matter won’t change this now and won’t change this day
now, if we could only see the stones, but they are hidden in words they throw
they build a concept, make it known, let those beneath walk blind and walk deep into catacombs
while you curry favor born in some child’s notion of power
and in your vanities conceit you would leave them flowers
at the base of the tomb you made, whose headstone you engraved
“here we honor, lies a martyr” - our artifice “a necessary sacrifice to serve a higher power, a mighty tower” while you reside high up inside your bower
the children are all leaving now, and you are alone with the bully
there’s no one to impress, his favor, his confidences seem to matter less
and also you notice, his essence seems to diminish, no longer fed by his concepts of success
the fearful masquerade, the breathlessness,
but you dropped the rock can you accept
the mess that you made, the martyr, the tower, the power to stand on rubble and stone inside of your bower
the children long gone, they wrote their own stories, their gardens have grown, their towers true glories
in the seeds they have sown, go to them now, they endure and they save stories
of balance and harmony made, of love and growth because they were not afraid
to turn from the bully and his power masquerade
this is your choice now, this is your story, know yourself, know your glory
not sycophant, not empty puppet, wielded through the breathless hand
sentry and shield of the bully whose power resides in fears slavery
and as luck would have it, there are no chains, there is no fight, your hands are free to dig
and build a new bowery,
and we are of the light, and we will all walk away, cause we’re no slaves,
we push and we push the sky away
Lila Tristram’s ASMR-like approach to singing gets a worthy match in the lush and luxurious arrangements of The Last Dinosaur. Bandcamp New & Notable Feb 4, 2023