Riding my hover bike through Celestial Heights,
It used to be a glorified old folks' community
Shells of buildings that threaten to collapse
Barely kept aloft by solar propellers and hydrogen sacks,
And steel girders exposed like bones through broken arms,
This is the closest to heaven any of them ever got
The isolated silence, a chill runs up the hairs on the back of my neck
A crumbling sound and a looming shadow,
One tall structure sways into another
They collide, and plummet to the radiation-ridden museum
Of skulls and ash below
The isolated silence, the moon above me
Flickering lights, a population one-sixth its historical size
A dissonant melody ringing no reprise
I like to get away
My oxygen tank signals low
A vibrating pocket beckons a return to the landing platform
I swerve, pivot on an aerial dime,
A second held for eternity and lost in time
I like to get away to this dead planet,
Whose moon is the closest to Heaven
Any of us will ever get
William Ryan Fritch's enthralling, doomy new CD comes housed in a gorgeous, panoramic gatefold sleeve with bewitching original artwork. Bandcamp New & Notable May 16, 2016
All proceeds from this hefty compilation of psych, surf, prog, and experimental bands will be donated to racial justice mutual aid funds. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 5, 2020