Vultures In The Sky

Had a go at this one today, too.  It's prettier than the previous one.  More sad, not angry.  I had the basic song recorded, but hadn't put in the "pretty" stuff.  So wasn't sure if I liked it.  It's from an album I wrote long ago called "Death."  I was exploring my emo-ness.  It's more about pondering the inevitability of death than anything else.  It's not about murder or suicide or anything.  A lot of the death discussed in the album was more metaphorical or spiritual.  The best bit about the harmonica at the very end (just in the slow, quiet bit) is that it is a track left over from when I was playing harmonica to a completely different version of the song, which was at a different tempo (one just as fast as the rest of the song), but I just left it in because it was (obviously) rather disconnected sounding and dream-like.  Anyway:

Vultures In The Sky

Voices fade out and are gone

Resolve ebbs slowly out

Ground's too rough to lie upon

The fields are full of doubt

The sky's too bright to see just right

And the clouds are green like poison

The wanderer stands unmoving and

Looks out to…the grey horizon

And the vultures circle the air

they call out so you know they're there

the dust marks where the wanderer stands

With searching heart and two strong hands

The distant hills are rough-edged

Squatting low and looking mean

Scraggly brush disparages

Rocks that look obscene

A tree alone in a world of stone

Like a twisted, broken python

A raven croaks, looks surprised he spoke

No response from…the grey horizon

The sparse grass is a dunnish brown

Thin as an old man's hair

And (rotten through and falling down)

A small wood hut is there

Man spends youth to build a roof

Not much to lay the eyes on

Grows old and weak as it grows more leaks

Faded to grey… and a grey horizon

A sparkling pile of broken glass

Lies scattered on the ground

Once a bottle in the past

Bought to cure a frown

It poured out sick and homeless faces

Sores to lay the eyes on

Now on the stones the rap-wrapped bones adorn…

The grey horizon

The vultures circle the ground and marvel at what they've found

A feast to keep them fed. There's no shortage of the dead.