Down-home front porch blues, baby.

Is it what you think? Is it what you feel?

Is it what you think? Is it what you feel?

Bob suggests "sludge metal." Improvised lyric. Debut of assault harp.

This went on for quite a while.

Dagnabbit.

We warned you.

Anyone remember this one? Old.

Leafless trees hung low in the cold. I saw myself kneel, fall, die all alone. No pity, no tears, no profound song. Just gone. The limbs of the trees broke in the wind. Worn and old from beckoning, again and again. But no god came. In the end…