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Live From Virtual DragonCon 2020

by Valentine Wolfe

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading – treading – till it seemed That Sense was breaking through – And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum – Kept beating – beating – till I thought My Mind was going numb – And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots of Lead, again, Then Space – began to toll, As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race Wrecked, solitary, here – And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down – And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing – then –
The Soul selects her own Society — Then — shuts the Door — To her divine Majority — Obtrude no more — Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing — At her low Gate — Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling Upon her Mat — I’ve known her — from an ample nation — Choose One — Then — close the Valves of her attention — Like Stone —
The Frost of Death was on the Pane — “Secure your Flower" said he. Like Sailors fighting with a Leak We fought Mortality. Our passive Flower we held to Sea — To Mountain — To the Sun — Yet even on his Scarlet shelf To crawl the Frost begun — We pried him back Ourselves we wedged Himself and her between, Yet easy as the narrow Snake He forked his way along Till all her helpless beauty bent And then our wrath begun — We hunted him to his Ravine We chased him to his Den — We hated Death and hated Life And nowhere was to go — Than Sea and continent there is A larger — it is Woe —
This World is not Conclusion. A Species stands beyond - Invisible, as Music - But positive, as Sound - It beckons, and it baffles - Philosophy, don’t know - And through a Riddle, at the last - Sagacity, must go - To guess it, puzzles scholars - To gain it, Men have borne Contempt of Generations And Crucifixion, shown - Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies - Blushes, if any see - Plucks at a twig of Evidence - And asks a Vane, the way - Much Gesture, from the Pulpit - Strong Hallelujahs roll - Narcotics cannot still the Tooth That nibbles at the soul -
“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.
When death came in to steal her from me I tried to put up a fight I was no match for that figure cloaked in black And I lost my bride to the night She was a child- I was a child In that kingdom by the sea How cruelly then she was taken from me My beautiful Annabel Lee She was singing at her piano Such a beautiful sight to me But blood has now consumed our lives It is dripping from the keys Let me have under her own hand A letter bidding me goodbye I may die, my heart will break But I will say no more She was a child- I was a child In that kingdom by the sea How cruelly then she was taken from me My beautiful Annabel Lee


Since we could not play for you all in person this year at Dragon*Con, we put together a short set for their virtual event. Enjoy this Live From Our Parlour recording!


released October 2, 2020

Sarah Black: Vocals
Braxton Ballew: Double Bass


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Valentine Wolfe Greenville, South Carolina

Two morbidly fascinated musicians combining ambient solo bass, brutal distortion, electronica, and 18th century opera to tell a story of the macabre.

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