Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Keywords : Bowerbirds...a kidnapping...a conversion

I had been captured. It was as soon as I felt the warmth of their touch that I knew I had been overcome. Their hands were made of fingers and bone, talons of soft and warm things too pretty for me to wrap my own limbs through. So in other words, I wasn’t allowed to…

But it didn’t really matter for when I awoke in that room of bent and burdened glass from a past that I never lived through I saw him tip his hat and curtsy, a polite gesture to his newly attained friend, fearful for life and eager for a listen. A sound from the underground, a friendly finger to follow, a tunnel to the basement below, the cave at the end of thousands and thousands of stairs. I slid down th
at slide of steps, tripping and tumbling toward that ever-friendly hum that rose from the center of the earth. Touching down, a roll and rumble (heels grounded, toes heavenward), a handsome man with a stringed strum from the ancients, a soft voice, dry and dim and comfortably…

Bowerbirds they called themselves. My pirates of the underground who had stolen me away, my new friends, my holy priests whose sound I now reverently…

But what could I have done differently? As soon as I was in their talons there was never any going back.

BowerbirdsIn Our Talons

Bowerbirds' new album Hymns For A Dark Horse is out now on Burly Time Records.



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