Sunlight Is The Color The Gray Field Recordings

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Trees have fallen
Branches are black
The air was moist and he breathed it in
Ashes, ashes
Burnt paper filled the space
Sparking up the sky
With the moon transfigured into silence
Gliding over the pitch surface
Gliding over the hills

All we are is waiting
How could we be any more than this?

Taking your hand we walk
We across the in between
The organic puppets that once were flesh
Mock and talk
And we don't understand the words
And it sounds like barking dogs
No human is human to us anymore
No faces look normal
Because we are no longer part of that world
Everything is false
Everything is a dream

The gray hills...
The gray skies...