Said the waves:
"This doesn't end as it goes.
See: I formed the shore & away I roll."
Said the wind:
"Don't bother me leaving you touched,
giving you shivers of spring,
still never promising much."
Said the fox:
"This place might give good shelter
as winter is up the hill.
Hold on to the thought of good will
to be sure to be free to decide
to hold on to each other
any time we feel it's right."
Grow the pines now, grow the moss,
even the crack in the old wall.
Race now, heart, as it's starting all over
&what is lost let go, let fall.
Grow the rainclouds from the sky,
grow the stones from the river's bank,
grow that beating in my head,
grow that whispering in my chest.
Through the meadows, through the woods,
claiming shelter from the rain,
like a fast train car towards the tunnel
what seems to vanish shall remain.
The last place in this world
I would want to be trapped in
is that hole someone dug
by just asking for too much.
&the last of the lists you hold
Iwould want to find my name placed on
is the one telling you things to do.
from Letters of the Lost,
released January 5, 2014
Sebastian [Western Guitar, Vocals]
Benjamin [Lyrics, Electric Guitar, Vocals]
Chris [Viola, Violin, Vocals]
Chris [Bass Guitar]
Alison [Sound-Engineer, Vocals]