The Incomplete Cacophony



The Separation Circle






The Incomplete Cacophony

Whither Now?


No Windows

Where Brick Fields Lay

Waiata Poi

Yesterday's News

Shall Run Again


Must Be The Seat

Nocturnal Howls Surface

A Tale Of Nearly

An Airport, A Harbour
and the Wandering Journeyman
on the Other Side of the Horse

Space Travel Backwards

Towards India Gate

Steps Small

Behind the Noise

Nocturnal Howls Surface





 "Your music still gives me that wonderful feeling
of other worlds and possible ways of living
and that's good!"

John 'Twizzle' Simmons



Words & music by Ed Hooke, February-March 2012
  Ed Hooke March 2012

Striding, six inches off the ground.
Effortless, free from pain.
Soaring high dwarfing trees below.
Flying dreams once again.
Dreams again.

Long past is midnight.
Hours endure yet until the day.
Fresh wakened eyes fight
slumber's entreaties away.
Rise now. Make good speed.
Charcoal and hood swiftly adorn.
Cloaked for this task's need,
camouflage creatures are born.

Vague forms assembling,
muttering voices, words are few.
Hidden hearts trembling
ruthlessly fears veiled from view.
Leather set creaking,
wooden clunks, softly, metals chime.
Sounds without speaking
signal that now is the time.

Turn not back. Look ever forward.
Grasp the nettle.

Attuning vision
picks out our tight tenebrous track.
Dim imprecision.
Mantle of murk, shades of black.
Dull, glistening hoar frost
scattered twigs yet unsnapped too lurk.
Clearings and streams crossed
threaten our clandestine work.

Vigilance of victim vipers.
Nerves of tinder.

So to the hillside
close ahead now the scene below.
Dark passion, our guide
simmers to soon overflow.
Here shall stand grave stones,
tombs empty yet, tomorrow filled.
Inscribed o'er fresh bones
names that the gods will have willed.

Past the point of no return now.
Be with us, Fates!
Words have failed. Our world must burn now.
Daybreak awaits.



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