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lyrics

Ash flakes float from the welkin's moat in a tune he wrote up on Broadway.
The gale awoken, a screen door broken, a vesper spoken at mid-day.

The pallid tawn of the old salon with its story drawn on the ceiling -- home's a cloak of the winter folk and there's always smoke lingering in the air, in the trees, in the prairies cut to the lees.
The queen bats her eyes, the burning lands will arise.

I learned to talk on the coal sidewalk where the doors don't lock and the string breaks. The river packed as the bridge was cracked, only the birds react, a lapwing makes the wind and the rain seem a sunset seen from a train.
They realize the burning air will arise.

Before the playhouse closed Mr. Lill composed and we all supposed that the wiretap would smell like a diving bell and the oneiric spell of the lyre would send a crackling sound across the toneless plane of the ground.
We still revise, the burning earth will arise.

He feels it sear on the coldest day of the year.
We still revise, the burning earth will arise.

credits

from To Evening Lands, released April 8, 2014

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Luke Gullickson Albuquerque, New Mexico

Musical maps and labyrinths

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