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Mankind has written many, many books, and many, many histories. A lot of them you can seek out for yourselves, in book shops or in libraries, but there is one book, written long ago, that will never find its way into such places.
Some histories are too dark to share with the bright, careless world out there. They should be read in here, in the shadows, for it is in the shadows that they were born...
Come closer,
Sit down,
And we will tell you a tale from...
The Book of the Lost.
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You called me to your side,
But where are water lily eyes?
Twisted iron, twisting round,
The mud will come alive.
Walking into the evening,
As the plants give up the day,
It's as simple as breathing,
Fern smells, damp leaves, clay.
But I am a Marsh Thing,
I held the bramble twist.
It's as simple as breathing,
Feel the green run down my wrist.
Touch my shoulder, make me wake up,
To the warm stale room.
Your eyes are tired, and I ache,
For the garden and the moon.
Walking into the evening,
As the plants give up the day,
It's as sinful as breathing,
Fern smells, damp leaves, clay.
And I am a Marsh Thing,
I held the bramble twist.
It's as simple as breathing,
Feel the green run down my wrist.
You said, love leaves, no more, no more...
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The hands that pull the strings cast aside the leaves,
With skin as pale as chalk and it’s too late to leave.
Now she stands so tall, clothed in silvered white,
Stepped down from on high, chosen for this night.
Uncovered by the plough, risen from the mire,
The river runs too fast in the all consuming fire.
The baying of the crowd, spread through them to hear.
The fever strikes the souls of those who fear.
The ashes greet the soil. Still coursing through their veins,
The pins that boil inside, and rising up again.
Nothing but the time allows these wounds to heal.
Nailed in safe and sound, let no one break the seal.
Uncovered by the plough, risen from the mire,
This river runs too fast in the all consuming fire.
The baying of the crowd, spread through them to hear.
The fever strikes the souls of those who fear.
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His lover awaits with cool grey eyes,
Down on the shore where the seagulls cry.
The boy sets out as the sun goes down,
And the gas lamps are lit in the sleepy town.
Over the cliffs and the cold wind blows,
It cuts like a knife through his summer clothes,
But the dark haired girl is there on the sand,
A necklace of shells knotted in her hand.
I think I might love you enough,
To take off this ragged sealskin.
I think I might love you enough,
To strip down to the bone.
She hangs round his neck her seashell charm,
"May love that is true keep you safe from harm."
All summer long that he meets her there,
The ocean is kind and the winds are fair.
But soon spinning in the tavern's warmth he seeks,
Kisses sweet like a flower, not salt like the sea.
The fire burns bright as he smiles and flirts,
A necklace of shells hidden under his shirt.
The morning is clear as he leaves her door,
The storm doesn't come 'til he's far from shore.
Now a dark haired girl stands alone on the sand,
A necklace of shells broken in her hand.
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Silent rhythms play. To the fields in which we’ll stray.
Dizzied from Midsummer’s wine, slipping through another time.
This night there’ll be no sleep, the fire will burn the leap.
The senses old yet heightened too, oblivious to what they’ll do.
Wheel and turn processing to the meadowsweet,
On to the place where they will greet the lake, and bathe,
That they may drift so deep inside.
Sinking out of sight, to the hole in which they’ll hide,
To play upon the fears of all those left behind.
Through their watered gaze, to watch them come again.
Following a different path that leads on to the grave.
The seasons know the names, and welcome the refrains,
Of customs played out in the midst of long lost ancient artifice.
Wheel and turn processing to the meadowsweet,
On to the place where they will greet the lake, and bathe,
That they may drift so deep inside.
Sinking out of sight, to the hole in which they’ll hide,
To play upon the fears of all those left behind.
The means to meet the ends, the earth shall gather in.
Break them down in soil, so the crops will rise again.
Wheel and turn processing to the meadowsweet,
On to the place where they will greet the lake, and bathe,
That they may drift so deep inside.
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SUMMARY
A CD of original songs and faked soundtrack extracts based on imaginary folk horror films from the sixties and seventies. There is also an accompanying website with more details about the films to complement the album.
Website:
www.thebookofthelost.co.uk
Label: Joint release on Owltextures and Millersounds
Catalogue number: OWLMILL006
REVIEWS FOR LAST YEAR'S LIMITED RELEASE:
Andrew Male, MOJO: “Romantic folk narratives with a dark-woods chill of pastoral melancholy.”
Dave Thompson, Goldmine Magazine: “an utterly spellbinding CD soundtrack for the show that never was…a slice of dark-dreamy lost and lovely psych, with Jones’s marvelous voice a wraith-like presence that is both childlike and ageless.”
Tim Carroll, Folkwords: "...an alchemy of classic English horror films, touches of Dennis Wheatley, essences of M.R. James and copious helpings of weird-edged, dark folk...an enthralling, deliciously disturbing album."
MORE DETAIL:
The Book of the Lost is the result of a year-long collaboration between Emily Jones and The Rowan Amber Mill, born out of a shared love of classic British horror films, and those of the type loosely described as folk horror in particular.
With the likes of The Wicker Man, Witchfinder General, Blood on Satan’s Claw and Psychomania unsettling their collective memories, they constructed in meticulous detail a number of their own lost folk horror movies, complete with synopsis, cast and crew, production companies etc, then created songs and dialogue pieces (supposedly) based on these imaginary films. To tie up their dark gathering of lost movies, they used the device of a decidedly low budget, hastily slung together television series called The Book of the Lost which would play these films (fittingly) in the graveyard slot. The album took its name from this series.
The Book of the Lost is a joint release on the Millersounds and Owltextures labels. It received a limited release via
www.thebookofthelost.co.uk and
www.millersounds.co.uk for Halloween last year and its general release is on 5th March 2014 - when it will be available from both those websites, as well as other online and retail outlets (if there are any retail shops left by then).
For more information go to the
www.thebookofthelost.co.uk, which has all manner of stuff, including videos, audio clips, plot spoilers and stills.
You can write to us via
owltextures@gmail.com if you have any questions, or would like a review copy.