A setting of a beautiful, stark poem by Tim Bowling.
lyrics
We used to blacken the windows
wreathe black the door
now the children of the dead
grieve privately in metaphor
elegy is the wheels spinning on the bicycle
of the capped boy
who brings the yellow telegram telling of
sons who fell in the wars
the neighborhood knew the pain
we blackened the windows
blackly wreathed the door
now the blood is drained from the poppy
we’ve worn for eighty years
I refuse that hollow wreath
I won’t be that rotten door
Better to go and hear
the cattle screaming in the abbatoirs
afraid to die afraid to live
these are the same fears
elegy is the sound of windfall pears
hitting the wet grass
and we die like this
living, we die like this
mute at the little grief-windows
of the flesh
we die like this
Plinky shoegaze-inflected guitar rock confronts the world with both nihilism and hope on the sophomore release Philadelphia band Knifeplay. Bandcamp New & Notable Sep 1, 2022