Sick me the dogs of war
Oh how I hear them come
Sick me the dogs of war
Oh how I hear them come
And i'll let them find me
On behalf of my friends and family
The only thing my pulse agrees
Running rapid with ease
For years i've been lost at sea
And for them i'll die happy in my sleep
I walked around the room, though my body still lie
And all I could ask, was I just an idea this whole time?
They would scatter about, drinking all their wine
Cause god forbid, the grape wasn't crushed just fine
And then I changed my tune
From under my skin I cried
Cause i'd rather be poor with family, then rich and with none
I swallowed myself into none
And the wolves they keep on howling
All o'er these Jersey hills
So I cut my throat, and watched the whiskey spill
Then I cried again...hoping that they'd hear from the outside
Oh how loud I cried, but I was passed this point of life...
Cause i'd rather be poor with family, then rich and with none
I swallowed myself into none
And the wolves they keep on howling
All o'er these Jersey hills
So I cut my throat, and watched the whiskey spill
Alec Bowman perfectly captures the dark soil under the pastoral world of British folk with this collection of melancholy originals. Bandcamp New & Notable May 12, 2020
A trio of songs from indie rock veterans, “3ingle” showcases their songwriting skill with pared-back, acoustic arrangements. Bandcamp New & Notable Dec 8, 2018