Heavy sky, harvest sun,
Turns the tallgrass brown.
This countryside is unyielding,
Crops wilted to the ground.
Stubborn plow, bringing blisters
On rough and calloused hands.
He wipes the hot sweat from his brow,
The cultivator man.
The house is dusty, there is no water,
No pot above the hearth,
The sun creeps closer, down the heavens,
Mounting hate inside his heart.
He takes the rifle from the closet,
Turns it over in his hands,
Only one slug in the chamber,
For the cultivator man.
The sunset is a wildfire,
Burning shadows on the floor,
Tax man comin’ up the drive,
Now he’s rappin’ at the door,
The old man takes his last breath,
As the bullet leaves the bore.
supported by 155 fans who also own “The Hot Breath of God”
Fantastic album from front to back! Incredibly catchy, fuzzy riffs, great songwriting and powerful lyricism.
A classic of modern heavy psych / stoner music! Brett
The Brooklyn band deliver a blissful psychedelic rock album steeped in sci-fi and spirituality, awash with organs, strings, and reverb. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 23, 2021