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Seance on a Wet Afternoon-
Seated to the left, seated to the right
we keep the circle of hands held tight.
The woman with cold, vampiric eyes
utters a phrase up to the sky.
She says a name and calls the host hoping to see a ghost
or maybe a sign of spectral presence in the room.
The rain is tapping on our door quietly falling.
A steady somber, slow downpour beautifully haunting.
We've gathered here today for a seance in the haunted room.
For a seance on a cold, wet afternoon.
The old piano plays by itself, an old familiar tune,
at the seance on a cold, wet afternoon.
Seated to the left, seated to the right
we keep the circle of hands held tight.
Although we tremble and we shake the circle will never break.
Maybe it was just our surprise in front of hallucinating eyes-
the table began to rise to the ceiling of the room.
The rain is tapping on our door quietly falling.
A steady somber, slow downpour beautifully haunting.
We've gathered here today for a seance in the haunted room.
For a seance on a cold, wet afternoon.
The candelabra strays from the table floating through the room
at the seance on a cold, wet afternoon.
A sudden breath of wind is blowing through the room
although the window's closed and locked.
The chair beneath the sheet slowly starts to move.
Although it's empty it still rocks.
No, we are not alone. Someone else is with us.
The startled dog begins to bark.
The candles blow out. All is black and still between us
until a voice calls out into the dark......"help..me.."
Seated to the left, seated to the right
we keep the circle of hands held tight.
We've broken into the other side, into the afterlife.
We called a name, we called the host and finally saw a ghost-
the crying woman robed in white in the corner of the room.
The rain is tapping on our door quietly falling.
A steady somber, slow downpour beautifully haunting.
We've gathered here today for a seance in the haunted room.
For a seance on a cold, wet afternoon.
We heard the voices say they'll be here to join us very soon
at the seance on a cold, wet afternoon.
But then the sun began to break through the clouds.
For Heaven's sake it was over.
Copyright 2021 J. Brower
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2. |
Playing the Fool
05:07
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Playing The Fool-
You touch the image in the glass, a reflection of the past
turns to dust right before you recognize it.
You look for life you've always known in the grass that's overgrown.
Now you go to the place where it all started.
You have the need again to clear the webs away.
A tragic prisoner who's caught inside the play.
You play the fool to empty aisles and to your knees you fall.
Soliloquies fill the shadows in the silent hall.
You use the masks to wear your smiles when tragedy befalls
bowing through the curtain to ghosts of old applause.
You bask in light of yesterday on the threshold of your disarray
as you fall through the arms of your departed.
You held the world within your hand, once a giant of the land
but now you're cold and your skin hangs in the closet.
You lose your heart again, they took your world away.
The prince of mockery that faded in the play.
You play the fool to empty aisles and balconies that fall
crush your rightful encore beneath the crumbling hall.
You use the masks to wear your smiles when tragedy befalls.
Sitting with your shadow the final curtain calls.
You played the part again inside a world of gray.
One eye saw harmony, the other turned away.
You lost your heart again.
Copyright 2021 J. Brower
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3. |
Blood of Martyrs
09:20
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Blood Of Martyrs-
When the masses wildly overload and the mob has torched the town
the chains of madness were all you ever broke.
In the clearing smoke of a burning road where the blood flows just like wine
the words of kindness were never what you spoke,
Your beliefs have brought direction into your cause
and all you're suffering for is thrown out to the dogs.
I am my own witness and wisdom I will share bonded in blood.
I can see true conviction in your eyes.
You can see the masses hoping for your demise.
Although the people knew you they threw you to the smoke.
You were the punchline of the joke.
When the spirits rise to be shown the way through the Martyr's
crumbling town the prayers of angels that once seemed so remote
take your soul along the burning road where the children
point and laugh- the hands of demons now have you by the throat.
Your beliefs that brought direction into your cause
were shot down instantly with cheers and cold applause.
I have been your witness and wisdom we have shared covered in blood.
Copyright 2021 J. Brower
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4. |
The Blindman's Window
06:53
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The Blindman's Window-
There's a shape in the window that's the silhouette
of a sad man going blind.
He's staring intently at the images that he's storing in his mind.
But, he finds it hard to see.
The sun has set so deep and he's dumb with confusion.
Now his world is turning gray without the light of day.
Is it just a trick creeping slow through his eyes?
Is he really going blind?
There's a place in the window that's the resting place
of the madman and he's cold.
With just recollection of the many things in a lifetime
he'll never again behold.
If he had the wishes three he'd ask that he could see
and be free of the darkness.
With a shadow on his heart it's tearing him apart.
Every time he thinks that it's some sort of trick
he grows tired and sick.
So he thinks of his chance to surrender.
He won't last long behind the blindfold
of permanence and pain and his suffering.
So he thinks, "Must I live like this for Eternity?"
And he thinks, "How can I be so brave to go through
this struggle as a slave to the darkness?"
There's a face in the window that's a tragic mask
of the blindman so afraid.
The view in his memory starts to disappear
as the pictures start to fade.
Now he loses all control.
The man has lost his soul and his search for solutions.
So he puts it all aside and takes it all in stride
and gives in to the darkness.
There is nothing in sight. He's lost his last fight.
So he falls to his knees and surrenders
and pulls the drapes across his window.
There's nothing left to see.
Copyright 2021 J. Brower
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5. |
Inside This Wonderland
13:09
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Inside This Wonderland-
Look out the window, look across the sky.
Maybe there's a rainbow forming right there in front of your eyes
but you don't even notice if it's raining or if it is sunny.
Is it the day or the night, tell me, is it the day or the night?
There's no beacon in bad weather
you're just a falling feather on the wind of the night, baby,
searching for something right
to replace the sadness that has torn your whole life apart
and piece together all the fragments of your demolished heart.
Miracles are for believers, illusions for deceivers
to pull the wool on your eyes, baby, pull the wool over your eyes
and make you think that you see something
to get your hopes up high and make you reach for the sky, baby,
reach for the pie in the sky.
But, the smoke has cleared and you've been deceived so far, so far,
and I can't pull you up from off your knees you fell so far, so far,
so far today.
In the calming shade you lay down, but, you're afraid
to now close your eyes and say goodbye,
so you cast your eyes to the sky and start to cry
because the miracle is only there for you.
Now you're inside this Wonderland waiting with uncertainty.
You look for something that can help you understand why you're here.
Now where do you go?
Don't chase the rabbit who is always late for madness in a cup of tea
and if you follow Alice as she takes you by the hand be careful
or you'll fall and disappear into the hole.
You reach into the air with one misguided hand
that doesn't feel or knows where to go.
Who knows what fate will bring when it's our time to go?
It's so unclear, none of us know.
So here you sit inside this Wonderland.
The March Hare and Mad Hatter drink their tea and drink a toast to you.
Look beyond the window, try to understand
maybe then the answer will fall into your open hand.
Bringing you a ray of sunshine to light your hour of darkness
and fill you full of delight, maybe help you to see the light
and take away the veil of sorrow you'd probably wear tomorrow.
It can heal you tonight, baby, and make you feel alright.
Now the morning comes and you can see so far, so far,
and you're almost where you want to be-
you came so far, so far, so far today. You came an awful long way!
Copyright 2021 J. Brower
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Mourning Knight Mount Kisco, New York
Hailing from Westchester County, NY, Mourning Knight is a project that goes back to the mid 90s and continues to this day. Heavily influenced by the atmospheres and musical soundscapes of the Progressive seventies, passion, drama and a sense of the cinematic are brought together with lyrics that convey the darker, melancholy side of life. ... more
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