Night Beast was written and recorded about a year ago, I think. Maybe longer than that. This one’s been sitting around on my harddrive for a while, but I’ve had nowhere to put it until now.
It’s a cold, dark wind that’s picking up pace over my stone tired hickory face. It’s a black night beast who’s giving me chase into an early stone-covered grave. All that I want before I go is to talk until the fire knows what I know. It’s a shame that I’ve been home digging through slate, looking for answers about whence we came. It’s a shame that all I learned, this side of “heaven”, flew through the window on the wings of a bird. All that I want before I go is to talk until the fire knows what I know. And when every word has made its way through the open air, I’ll be away digging through slate.