Caput Corvi E​.​P.

by Crow's Head

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05:53

about

Recorded at woodcutter Hall Fall- Winter 2014

credits

released January 14, 2015

Avery Strobel- Gutar, Bass, Vocals
Katharine Cheevers- Cello, Vocals
All art, music, and lyrics by Crow's Head
Thanks to Fallon, Ameerah, The Secret Lair, and everyone who encouraged and supported us with this music Summer- Fall 2014

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Crow's Head Spokane, Washington

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Track Name: If it is
Though Impossible it seems for life to stop and matter to end
I must face the fact, that this is it this is all we get. The harsh reality, cold coffin of purpose, embittered tomb, eternal loss.
But I wish for more, some things they mean to much.
I've walked these valleys, i've seen the end. But as a blind man, what truth shall this bear.
Upon this plane, among the days of here and now I can know not, so I must live for all
And if it means, I can hope.
If it is, I can hope.
Track Name: Break of Light
Our weeks move slowly and years vanish before our eyes, forgetting the days which mark the turning in our years. We have built false gods and expectations of merriment, exhausting a life before it has really been seized.
They are reaching, seeking tomorrow. Where is the time? The time one needs to feel fulfillment. We are always behind. We look to the future too soon.
Spring Solstice sets, welcoming the darkness. Rejoice to celebrate the warmth that is to come. Oh fools! The Equinox is here. Sunbathing, no preparing.
There is no need for the Harvest. By Winter Solstice, the Break of Light, hope has run out.
Track Name: Salt
The cliffs are not in control. The weather, this force they cannot move to understand, bids their aging. The wind is a watcher anger and power unseen, for a creator did not gift them with eyes to see. But these cliffs do feel. Fell the cold salt burn their wounds to cleanse.
And they stand still.
With no recognition for the life blooming within their skin. No recognition of death. No distinction of those who fall and those who jump. Yet these cliffs can hear. Hear the screams of the falling, curses meant for heavens ears, murders of nesting birds, harsh howling of demons of the wind.
And they stand still.
These memories resonate inside their caverns while hope clings inside their deepest crevices only to be plucked painfully by predators, cast down to the eternal sea whose waves pound ceaselessly. In the end, each drop feels the same. A particle eroding its face.
These cliffs stand still.
Unconsenting breeders of violence. Bare ground ravaged in the name of new life. Yet nothing sears them more than the silence of their god.