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fireball - guitars, harmonica, whistling
bd rogers - impromptu spoken word, recorded at the shakespeare kitchen mixed by fireball in his lair we staggered into the caravanserais in the middle of the night, down from the mountains up north, cold, not really sure where the borders were, needed to rest the animals one of those backpacker backwaters for the commercially intrepid, everybody somehow ends up there, just because somebody ended up here sixty years ago there wasn't much chance of catching that train, we sprinted down the valley trail for miles, we weren't even sure if the train still ran or what language they were yelling when we set off to walk the great circle, we were not gonna bow to geography or topography like that goliath guy... we'd heard the stories, everybody had heard the stories... word got around, word got twisted, word got sung and sermonized... we had a few words to add, and we weren't kidding |
when we turn west head for zaqatala on the A16 express another marshrutka another hot pot of caj everything in kartuli indecipherable wind blowing by
we'll chew the chitin
things will brighten |
before they snap gallows gilt to glitter cover up the empty rap hymns in heirograffiti hum your favourite songs everything in kartuli time marching valiantly along
circles widen |
back to secret grey city.