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Monkey Grass
04:58
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Night tides breaking down the coast line,
monkey grass said a whisper to the wind.
And every moth in lights the same-
lost, disoriented.
They try they struggle and they pine,
desperate to find a guide up overhead.
If you call my name I will be there,
and if false light shines I'll endure its glare.
It's dark as sleep, a new shadows on the moon.
Caught up in a waking dream,
flying circles in a fevered pursuit.
I might get washed up in the light,
but I've heard every whisper the grass has said.
And if you call my name I will be there,
and if false light shines I'll endure its glare.
I will be...
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Southernist Raleigh, North Carolina
A recording project intended for personal fulfillment and occasional shark-jumping.
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