1. |
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Hypnotic pulsing
Trying to pull me in
Blood red ocean bed
In the corner of my vision
Black bile ocean
Mocking of my frailty
The drone of crashing waves
Like tinnitus it haunts me
Fragile island
Under threat of the rising tide
Tide rises, tide falls
One day it will consume me whole
Cling to the land
The stable and familiar
But it's vast and inconceivable
The sand slips through my fingers
Into the depths
Swallowed by the swell
Weighed down by the secrets
Fear, panic and the guilt
The lying hurts
But then so does the truth
I could call out for help
But fear pulling you in too
Blood on the rocks
Shipwrecks on the reef
Bones amongst the dying coral
In this unquiet graveyard
Unhearing deity
Indifferent to our existance
Under the weight of Leviathan
I long for the surface
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2. |
Merrie England
04:38
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Mourning the loss
Of a world we've never known
Once there lived dragons
Where there are none now
Dwarf and remnant fauna
In a state of extreme depletion
As its size and abundance decline
So too do our expectations
Our memories have been wiped
As clean as the land
These barren treeless wastelands
Perceived as wilderness
The aftermath of disaster
Perceived as nature
Where once there was forest
Only sheep, grouse and heather
Shifting baseline syndrome
Merrie England doesn't exist
We're just mourning the loss of our childhoods
An idyll and a myth
Nothing left untainted
By humanity's destructive hand
A landscape distorted
No green and pleasant land
Born into a land
Of open, festering wounds
That we cannot see
Because it's all we know
Kept open and infected
In the name of conservation
Complex living system
Beaten into submission
The natural balance upset
Keystone species gone
Invasive species thrive
Monoculture and ecocide
The plants devoid of insects
A sky devoid of birds
A land that has been stripped
Of diversity and life
Shifting baseline syndrome
Merrie England doesn't exist
We're just mourning the loss of our childhoods
An idyll and a myth
Nothing left untainted
By humanity's destructive hand
A landscape distorted
No green and pleasant land
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3. |
Poison Soil
03:26
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This path wasn't meant for me
So I try to find my own way
I stagger through the trees
The weeds and wild flowers
Deep inside the darkwoods
Foolish and naive
Stumbling through the dark
Amateur orienteering
The way is cursed with thorns
Reaching up and scratching
At my body like the tendrils
Of some ancient entity
The thorns they snag and tear
Try to drain the life from me
And all that I hold dear
Is tangled up in this snare
Weary and worn
Find a glade in which to rest
Lay down my weary bones
Let the dreams infest my head
Dreaming of pastures new
Where I'm content to remain
Where the soil it is fertile
Let my roots grow deep and strong
But I wake up to the darkwoods
Shaking from the cold and fear
Pull myself up and keep moving
There's only poison soil here
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Ash Ludd Bristol, UK
Ash Ludd - Anarchic banjo driven Folk musician with a passion for traditional music and writing dark, metal influenced folk punk songs.
Ash Ludd recommends:
Some of my closest friends. The best people who make the best music.
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This is my Folk-Punk band, we all live different lives in different places but we do things together when we can!
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Reality Sounds Better
by Dishlicker
Another folk-punk project i'm involved in. A duo of banjo and accordion, playing anarchic folk songs.
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