Air - Klaus Gjika Is it over? Did I say it was? Maybe I'm just lying out of my teeth to get you to like me Where's the window? Who's responsible? Where did you find the air we're breathing to get you to like me Breathing's hard Living's harder Did we fall just to get high high on air me to get you to like me

Spatial Awareness - Tora Float away with me until the earth is just a tiny blue marble in the distance, finally free among the stars who twinkle out an infinite chorus breathe in nothingness, and with each breath out it is as if precious gems fall from my lips so I scream to let all the riches out then, in the darkness, we can be finally empty together.

Tremolo Nights - Jeanne Maillard Nuit d’étoiles et gouttes rondes, Pas à pas tangue son monde. Goûte le ciel et les lucioles, Boit le vent et à sa fiole. Joie, il saute et vole et rit, Et tangue quand il atterrit. La pluie éclate à ses pieds, Il tombe et roule sans danger. La joie est sa seule chanson, Les nuits, mélodies en canon, La pluie, son tambourin luisant, Les lumières, son public grisant. Tangue, tangue d’un pied sur l’autre, Rit de la lune et des passants, Tient son ventre et rit et rote, Gobe les ombres et les instants. Roule son ventre dans les rues sombres Les nuits où plus rien ne l’encombre. Pas à pas tangue son monde, Nuit d’étoiles et gouttes rondes.

Silken Strands - Klaus Gjika There was a time There was a time when you used to rest here with me and my breast would be your pillow You looked so pretty with all your flowing hair like silken strands tickling my chest There was a time There was a time when you left and never looked back to face the broken figure you had me rendered into You looked so pretty with all your flowing hair like silken strands diving in the Thames There was a time

Moon Cult - Rivvy The air is soft. Soft as mossy earth. Soft as plain, clear skies. Soft as stars. My prayer is answered this night. I strike a flame from my pocket and light the corners of the room, each one with my heart leaping in my chest, and cast a circle in heavy salt across the ground. The censer burns gently, in the centre, casting thick plumes that spiral about the house, and I spread the door curtain wide, for the wind to grasp it's own ashes and lift them to the sky outside. I can feel them waiting, rippling the lake gently with their silent steps, tapping their soundless hands against the trees. The ones who venture out might know me well by now, if they could leave the confines of their lights. They are so much closer tonight. And I know it is for me, for who else has known of them as long? I have heard the shrieks of the men in the dark, I have seen women drawn from their houses at the false-moon's fullest, but who is it knows it from the true-moon? I have read the walls of this place, I know what is left to me. I am not the first. I write my name in ash on the stone wall, beneath the others. They do not come often, but I do not languish in their wake like a sick dog, do not whine in self pity at their absence, no. There is so much to hear and learn from their markings of the land, the circles of crushed wheat and felled trees. I am patient, and I have studied their names in the land. They do not come often but the circles tell me their false-moon watches every second and ninth turn of the earth. I anoint the candle, and my brow, and breast, and each hip, writing smooth concentrics in oil across the points of my warm flesh, and lie down to taste the scent of the dry earth a final time. The mirror beside me cracks, softly as a dry leaf underfoot, and tightly woven circles shimmer across it's plane. It is their instruction, and I must follow it. To the door. To my answer. I swing my arms wide as I step outside, and the light hits my skin, and there, oh! the false-moon lies full atop the black water of the lake! The earth moves on beneath me, and I shed my skin in the light, the wash of air into my lungs deafening in the silence of their light. Their light is perfect, and so shall I be as perfect as their light. And they are about me now, these cold men are made of stars, and they beckon me out, oh, so softly! Onto the lake, on to their perfect, shining circle of silver on our black water, onto their thin threads light and on to the thick woven cloth of the heavens, and on into the lap of water at my ankles, the silken sheen of thick purple clouds at my fingertips. The black lake is deeper than the sky and I cannot swim. The light is silent and soft. The moon drinks me up whole. Moon Cult - Sincy Fram til vi finner noe å finne på Vimser vi rundt som elg på en tråd Men når vi omsider finner noen mål Blir vi til grønne tomater på et bål Sakte til damp fra noe fast skal en bli Vi flyr langt av gårde, for fly det kan vi Til den himmel vi har blir for liten og sprekker Forbi enhver stjerne, uansett hvor lekker Og til slutt ender alle opp på ett sted I en krik av månen, i ro og fred