Prairie

Apocalypse
Bill offers more than just a tranquil American-Folk album but a witty truth stitched in every song.

Dusk approaches and still the gentle warmth of the sun brushes at my skin. As I stroll along the billowing hills I run my fingers across the waves of wheat. And subtly, like a faint whisper, I sense my past generations deep in the damp dirt. 

Just at the edge of the field I see my father cutting wood. Slowly, night crawls up his wrinkled pants, up his cracked fingers, up his heavy arched back and finally up his sweating brow. Adjacent to him smoke plumes out of the cabin chimney and through the window I can see my mother brushing my sister's silky hair.

The prairie wind whips at my dress like a whip on a horses back.

My father collects the firewood and heads to our cabin. He looks my way, our eyes meet and for a second we stand there, staring at each other. But nothing was said and he closed the door behind him.

I see my my family sitting down for dinner and in my mothers soft melodic voice and my fathers coarse firm touch I feign my pain doesn't exist. For the truth of my families future is withering away in the wake of a toxic world.

But for my three and the rest before I, I walk down to the simple cabin and behind it I stand before my grandfathers tomb and his own and my mother's mother. Carved in stone are their names and their passing and their legacy. Time hasn't take them away yet..

But like a quick zap of lightning my life was taken, taken away, from you, from before, once ago, once more.