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In a moment that’s dying, all these people are cyphers
Standing in, being knocked down,
Still…
Straight through the heart, it forms a cloud
Your spears are my flowers, barbed words are my petals
The furrowed, five-pointed gap, the restless noise between
Shimmering on red brick, and the sight unseen
Little flash of pearl, a crescent, so present
Your spears are my flowers, barbed words are my petals
Lay out a wreath, pick out a bouquet, straight through the heart
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2. |
Queen's Road
04:50
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We leaned out of the attic window, and we heard the Salvation Army Band. Brass, frozen, echoed through the powdered snow, and the crimson of their costumes shone like…
Stood at the bus stop, we were always in shade in the dew-soaked morning. Wood pigeon cooing from an unseen branch, and the diesel of the engine sounds like…
Wooden gates, soft-splintered hands, a passage back to the infinite back garden. Oil, grease and chips of paint and the corrugated iron sound like…
I have seen green and gold drawn across my memories. If walls could speak, they would not recognise me now, I’ve changed.
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The Palps Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK
[Good, wholesome, ethical music for fans of intellectual lo-fi prog
rock.]
The Palps' music has been described as "quietly monumental" and "cinematic", and at other times redolent of Sabbath and Sonic Youth.
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