All the towers we have made
Glass and steel and tile
Will crumble, fall and fade
Return us to the wild
of tooth and claw
A new suburban jungle law
The crop on which your neighbors feed
Could be the flesh of your own seed
All the riches you have stashed
Will be turned to smoking ash
Tomorrow reaps what today you sow
Broken teeth cannot chew on gold
The lucky will live to see their loved ones sold
As cities burn to bones and ash
Nothing left but a child's eyelash
A child's eyelash
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