Prehistory from Praglia by Joel Cathcart

Patois crow crackles out today's espresso horoscope
The languid taste of useless truth
The curl of my circular vices
These dragon shards and foster stars emit a fluorescent irony
Could I give it up, keep it pure for once?

And now that you've left the shore
Where were the throats that were calling you onwards
Trying to guess the depth
So many stories of like-it or like-it-or-not

Chequered mate, a fleeting shape
Your face is shrouded in promises
The tranquil pace of distant hills
The call of their advertising
These sedatives and kayak scars obscure an angry colony
But I gave it up

• Acoustic
• experimental folk
• postfolk
• song
• soundscape
• soundsculpture
• Genoa