Poem: Distant Lights Of Olancha Recede

Album cover art for "Poem: Distant Lights Of Olancha Recede" by Harold Budd

Harold Budd - Pop, Instrumental

Poem: Distant Lights Of Olancha Recede

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Lyrics

The boy, my boy Lets the full charge fly The sound is masked by the rolling thunder peeling off the Sierras Late desert evening, getting black, getting feral The kilns haven't felt fire for a hundred years, but the boy lets another one go Pushed backed by the recoil, and another one The slug hits the dirt and splinters of lead have a life of their own as the thunder sends signals of yes and no You belong but you don't belong Fat owl changes cottonwoods, staring Twenty year old boots scrunch the sand as the rains are only yards away Red packed highway going east to Keeler Distant lights of Olancha recede in the caked mirror An hour and a half to Four Corners, then we're home, boys A day and a half, then we're home, boys A year and a half, a century Then we're home Boys

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Credits

Writers
  • Harold Budd