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• Artiste: Sleeping Years (The)
• Titre: Macosquin, Coleraine
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You take that turning. You've got to wake for the Lord in the morning, with the shadow of the church spire falling on the shoulders and heels of the fearing. The wind banks low, draws a furrow through the fields by the wish stone and while the constellations pin us down, one death makes all the dogs howl. And they say they know you, that they grew with you, but you don't know them at all. This wreath of brambles banked by catechisms and kerbstones, we've got herons stalking the burns but the devil's cast out of our homes. I carve my name, my name singing of new lands and shelter, my name set upon for colour, my name dreamt by others. And they say they know you, that they grew with you, but you don't know them at all. White clouds rolling, black earth open. You've got to wait for the call.