Get all 40 Stone Breath releases available on Bandcamp and save 15%.
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1. |
Beautiful and Terrible
00:24
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2. |
The Voice of the Thunder
05:19
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O the thunder has a voice if we have ears to hear it; Although, the sound will terrify if we have reason to fear it. Though serpent tooth with venom drips, we walk and pay no heed. Our eyes are cast to the clouds while snakes hiss under feet. All through the pillars of hyacinth, and through the towers of incense, and through the fields of harvest, we walk towards the heavens. Now toward the thunder cloud. Now toward the weeping eye. Now toward the flaming sword swung by spirits in the sky.
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3. |
The Sleeping Rise
03:26
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Rise upon the altars of living breath or upon the sharpest horns of death; where some creatures play and hide; where some others sleep and rise. Rise up now the blessed and the wise. Pour from the vase the flame of life. It falls into the dreaming eyes, that they may wake and rise. Rise divine mercy beneath the wings. Now stirs the sleeping in their sheets. See them roll their eyes! O how they shake and rise!
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4. |
Scorpion Tears
05:09
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Look there on high and deep within the clouds - we see the face of fire gazing down. And there - between the fingers of curling smoke, strange things with wings appear, so beautiful! And lo’ the lamps - they burn the light of time. Silently we stand here below, wondering at the darkest shadows cast by wing and branch and passing ghost. And those with eyes to see behold their robes. And those with ears to hear behold their songs. For they have come riding upon the wind; weeping blessed tears of scorpions.
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5. |
Where Angel wings Unfold
06:16
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Why was He hanged on that tree? To learn the dreams of leaves? What does revelation teach? Where is the heaven we reach? All upon that Place of skulls, or in garden walls, where summer turns into fall, maidens weep and call. Where the sickle cuts the crop, veils part and shrouds drop. Like waves crashing upon the rocks, time breaks but won't stop. Seasons change and leaves return. The still are reborn, to sleep alive or undead and rise from tombs and beds. From within the hollow tree Nicodemus sees the thunderstorm and earthquake. Nicodemus wakes. Who shall see sword cleave stone or feel spear kiss bone? Who shall hear the holy drone rise from Heaven's gate? Is it born from chemical codes - changed in alchemical modes? For there's a weird and bitter mold that grows where angel wings unfold. It melts like ice upon your tongue and curls like smoke in lungs and faintly glows where moonlight fails, foxfire light avails. Stars on high greet stars on ground. Flickering wings the sound, lifting ghostlight to our ears. (Secrets few can hear.) Tears of inspiration fall. The rains, they sound the call. Ancient winds shall move the dance. we join our hearts in chant. Half in trance, half in prayer, spirits move in the air. Through the mist we exhale, the living join the pale.
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6. |
Wingstorm
01:40
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O how the thunders do increase and how the storms do multiply! Driven by your holy wings. Carried by the southern wind. For all things begin again by some hidden formula; behind the winds that move the storm; behind the wings that move the wind.
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7. |
Holywater
07:24
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Mighty are the waters that fall from the sky. Holy are the waters that spring from the earth. May they meet in the prophet's hand. May they rain upon the holy lands and come down like tears upon the sand. Mighty are the rivers that reflect the sky. Holy are the rivers that cut into the earth. May they meet around the prophet's hand. May they bless all the holy lands and draw down the clouds upon the sand. Mighty are the tears that fall from the eyes. Holy are the tears that drop upon the earth. May they meet within the prophet's hands. May they cry upon the holy lands and come down like rain upon the sands.
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8. |
Terrible and Beautiful
04:08
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Beautiful and terrible: the shapes in the sky. Horrible and wonderful: the clouds in my eye. Terrible and beautiful: the feather and the wing. Wonderful and horrible: the songs that they sing. Beautiful and terrible: the halo and the flame. Horrible and wonderful: the blessing and the bane. Terrible and beautiful: the gleam of their swords. Wonderful and horrible: the howling of their words.
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9. |
The Sky's Red Tongue
10:35
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Angel wings enfold the sight of all men whose wandering minds enflame their bleeding hearts with the sky’s red tongue. And the wingless long for wings. And the winged long for winds. and the winds, they long for words. Clouds sing praise unto the trees who sacrifice their praying leaves and reach into the breeze, so sleeping minds can see. And the wingless turn in flight. And the winged bless this sight. And the winds chant through the night. With wounded hearts alight, the moon a halo burning bright, mortals drift while angels dream upon the sky’s red tongue. And the wingless rise like birds. The winged cross themselves in turn. And the wind becomes the word. Trace the paths of falling stars. Note the trails of falling leaves. Blossoms drop where you can see upon the grass so green. Upon the sky all blazing hearts rain down like little sparks. While thunder howls within the clouds, lightning always comes to ground. Angels fell so long ago, cast from sky to here below. The moon a weeping eye to see. the sun an angry eye to flee. But lo' the blossoms rise to the sky. I think they were butterflies. Springtime flowers burst again beneath the sky's red tongue. And the flames enfold all sight. And they free the wondering mind. And they free the bleeding hearts beneath the sky's red tongue. And the wingless sprout fine wings. And the winged call strong winds. And the winds have found their voice.
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10. |
The Coming Fires
03:50
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The world, it turns beneath our feet. Seasons spin, we part and greet and part again as time requires, and dream about the coming fires. Who can stop the blowing wind that tells us when the storm begins? Scream the prophet and the liar, “Who can stop the coming fires?!” Who can stop the rising flood that turns the good earth to mud and topples tower and high spire - and who can stop the coming fires? Who can stop the blowing wind that tells us when the storm begins? Scream the prophet and the liar, “Who can stop the coming fires?!” Saint and sinner both must bear it. In the night both shall hear it. We lie awake upon our pyres and await the coming fires. Who can stop the blowing wind that tells us when the storm begins? Scream the prophet and the liar, “Who can stop the coming fires?!”
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Stone Breath Red Lion, Pennsylvania
Stone Breath is not new. It is cracked. Broken. Imperfect. Hidden. Weathered by the seasons.
We sing of ghosts and of forgotten paths through forest and fallow field.
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