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• Artiste: Anathallo
• Titre: The River
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High water carried her down stream. She watched the water's living things. She thought, it's not a mound with six planks of wood, The cardinal points to hold you up, Or a mountain where a shed self could Feed the roots and honor the tongues of the animals. Drift into the moss and bloat where the pete bog pulls. Rolled like a felled tree With arms as useless as such. Death's panic came, a calmness stayed. You couldn't do much. Just watch the water chip away At the bank eroding. Cut and crumbling through the spate. It took a father. It covered a daughter, Took her down, down, down. With the glass bottles, books, a tire, Collected hair tufts In the weeds Snagged and wrapped, In the petes Dammed and trapped. You said, is this the ceremony? I don't know, well I don't mind. The way we all fall in and roll down Pushed through the veins and trafficked bi-s. And when your ears sit under, Head is half submerged down below, Pooling all accounts of peace while passed beneath The canopy glow. (Thanks to Brian for these lyrics)