The stewards spread for miles
and the rain to wash them down some
when out from the mourning,
we tipped our glass overflowing,
drank whole at our weakness,
the derricks bucking as they taunt:
dig my ground, dig it dry
'til there's nothing left under your feet
From out a poison tongue
won't tease a sullen answer
From out my grasping fingers
the guitars all bled out
While kids turn their faces to the sun
black helicopters block the light
I'll wave the cane at the shadows
until I'm old and bent
The Halloween generation sleeps
shake the bed to rouse my sons
If we spurn to conquer lost nations
but we fight a lonely war
such a lonely war
ELABORATION:
In an area of the world the wherein we can exploit a natural resource to its fullest, privileged to such a great degree, causing a huge influx of money to the province, but rarely to the places that need it. The loss, both environmental and moral, far outweighs the gains. The supposed benefit we see is fleeting; the idea of stewardship is one that is lost. How lonesome to be the only one to see the sun about to set, to see the desert coming.
The Canadian singer-songwriter and environmental activist excels at helping to find a silver lining; everything is transitory, but that doesn’t mean it’s unsurmountable. Bandcamp Album of the Day Feb 18, 2020
Classic emo sing-a-longs trade blows with tormented post-hardcore passages on the Brooklyn outfit's powerful sophomore LP. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 3, 2024