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lyrics
In late July - the sun is glowing
Far away seems all despair
And in the vales the corn is growing
With golden heads so bright and fair
The wind is tearing on my wings of steel
And sorrow fills my broken heart
I carry wounds that cannot heal
And you and I lie worlds apart
I like to see it when the birds are flying
Their carelessness I have to bear
And in their moves all weight denying
Escaping from the eagle's stare
The wind is tearing on my wings of steel
And sorrow fills my broken heart
I carry wounds that cannot heal
And you and I lie worlds apart
And in the distance a stream is flowing
Dark waters run towards the sea
Against the storm small boats are rowing
The ocean is our retreat
The wind is tearing on my wings of steel
And sorrow fills my broken heart
I carry wounds that cannot heal
And you and I lie worlds apart
Weariness like lingering poison
Where joy it used to be
Clouds are gathering around my prison
As far as the eye can see
The wind is tearing on my wings
And grief it fills my broken heart
I carry wounds of a thousand flames
And you and I lie worlds apart
The wind is tearing on my wings of steel
And sorrow fills my broken heart
I carry wounds that cannot heal
And you and I lie worlds apart
I love to listen to this during work, it fills me with calmness and I can almost smell the scents of the forest.
Beautiful & serene from start to finish. SilverFolfy
Easily my favorite Jännerwein album, and a great conclusion to an amazing band. Almost every song on this album is my favorite. Eine Hoffnung helped me get through some tough times, and I will absolutely never forget this album. Neofolk with an Austrian alpine flair. I really cannot recommend this album enough. Wound of Briccius
Proceeds from this excellent new darkambient/neofolk comp from LEFT/FOLK goes to benefit American Near East Refugee Aid. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 10, 2024
The Oakland singer's latest album imagines the power struggle between man and nature as a slow, steady tempest of dark folk. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 20, 2019
Music for all boys called Elis.
Elis, when the blackbird calls in the black wood, this is your downfall.
All Hail the ghosts of Monte Verità and the little rascals of Kibbo Kift. Mount Abraxas Press