Trunks become throats, roots become lips, leaves become fingers—
no longer do they move at the mercy of the wind.
The black water strokes upon the shore with newfound intention, noticed by the wooden giant
For they exist now together as do the stones that divide them
They hear the wails of far less ancient origin, of caustic anger and scorn
His iron tongue scrapes across the stone and against the roughness of the bark
He is the clouds, the sea, the soil.
It evades his grasp, cloaking itself in furls of silken roots
as the water bathes its tendrils in a purifying mist
Shifting to vapor, the leaves breathe him in
Latching to the helices to flay its identity
supported by 26 fans who also own “Reality Drips Into the Mouth of Indifference”
Artificial Brain took a while for me to appreciate. After, I enjoy listening to them.
They remind me of an alternate version of Wormed's old Planisphaerum era. Sid