July, it was the coldest Winter I'd ever known with you.
You'd held an aching fear, though unbelievable;
that without my suffering, you'd be cured.
I held you down through your downfall
and through my mirror, sprawled I watched divinity
through wounds carved in your lungs.
A well too far to fall, an addled cairn of walls break down
was there in nothingness, from flesh, in darkness, painted with nightfall.
The coldest winter I had known,
buried deep in ice and snow.
The stones of cradles have endured the weight of worlds.
supported by 7 fans who also own “Meshes of the Afternoon”
BBT are standard bearers for modern prog, with a sound that evokes the spirit of those legendary 70s bands whilst managing to also be thoroughly contemporary. It's astonishing that over 30 minutes of music of this quality, with such high production values, is being made available for free - and their full albums are also very reasonably priced... Eleventh Earl of Blah