by Big Box of Paints

Neverend 06:25
I think I could turn and live with animals they're so placid and self-contained I stand and look at them long and long They do not sweat and whine about their condition They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God Not one is dissatisfied Not one kneels to another nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago Not one is demented with the mania of owning things Not one is respectable or unhappy over the earth
Winter 07:46
And if you ever greet them they will not pause one instant to greet you back. Heads are hanging sternly lowly. And if you salute the passing friends They will not raise their heads They will not move their gaze to even glance at your face. The sight is lost in an opaque, thick haze. No sign of the stars: They no longer blaze! The eyes see no more-but one step ahead; We pass silent and sombre with our tumbling tread. To a passing man, it is your hand that you lend Only hesitantly he extends his to you, Alas My Friend! The air is bitter cold and cruel, the route is a dead-end! You exhale and your breath turns into a dark blur, raising insolently a wall in front of your eye. If this is your own breath then what could you expect from your friends –of far-away or close-by? O My Honest Saviour! O My Old Virtuous Companion! I hail you with reverence and respect! Welcome me back! Open me your door! It is me, it’s me: Your visitor of all nights! It is me, it’s me: The sorrowful errant! It is me: The discarded, The beaten stone! It is me: The injury to Creation; The song out of tune! Recall? Not the black, not the white: The colourless buffoon! Come and open me the door! I am freezing; open the door before! O Counterpart! O Generous Host! Your usual guest is trembling in the icy outside! And if you have ever heard a sound: It is not raining and in this lane there is not even a soul! The noise is from the encounter of my teeth with this overwhelming cold. Tonight I am here to reimburse you in mass! I am here to go clear in front of a wine-glass! Do not say “It’s late; it’s almost the crack of dawn!” The sky is deceitful with its blushed fawn! This red is not from the rays of light; The red is the imprint of this cold’s shameless clout! The pendant of the bosom of the heavens, Sun,-dead or afoot- is buried, obscured, beneath the weight of a nine-storey vault! O Counterpart! O Generous Host! Pour wine into the glass to light up this bitter exile: You see? In this winter days and nights are equal. And if you ever greet them they will not pause one instant to greet you back. The air is heavy, the doors are closed, Heads hang lowly, and hands are cloaked. Your breath turns to a dark shadow, Hearts are fading away under the sway of sorrow. The trees are naked, like frozen, forsaken bones, Earth is desolate, Sky is falling down. Moon and Sun are lost behind Loads of Litter: It is, indeed, The Reign of Winter.
Jabberwocky 03:24
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!” He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy. ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.
AJ 04:53


Neverend is currently in beta. Tracks are dynamic and may be dropped or new tracks added without warning.


released July 3, 2020


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Big Box of Paints Seattle, Washington

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