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lyrics

If April comes, will you be able to view
flowers rise from their tomb?
Or will the dust leave your hand
to fill the sky?

All my lies are leaves that fall like love from your tree;
All my lies are leaves that fall like love at your feet.

I slurred a dirge with perfect words for your death.
The wasteland, the world all are bereft.
“And we shall play a game of chess,
the ivory men make company between us,
pressing lidless eyes,” our naked bodies on the floor,
"and waiting for a knock upon the door.”*

All my lies are leaves that fall like love from your tree;
All my lies are leaves that fall like love at your feet.

*T.S. Eliot, ‘The Wasteland’ (A Game Of Chess, excerpt removed by Eliot from the poem)

credits

from Literatures, released June 15, 2016

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all rights reserved

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józef ripple & the multiverse of sound Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Vibrations from the multiverse channeled through the Unglaciated Allegheny Plateau.

Monk Moan Records.

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