I skulk through the skeleton trees—the birds and the sun have both flown. I daresay, a damnable scheme is hidden in midwinter’s moan. Afloat in a frozen white flood—isheveled— I shuffle the floor. The fix for what’s freezing my blood rests behind the red cellar door. Dandelion wine—just half a spoonful, and everything’s fine—summoning days of summer in bloom, chasing winter away. I should be raking my roof—the snow drift is dangerously high—but I’ve found my favorite proof, and the barrel is barely half dry. Dandelion wine—just half a spoonful, and everything’s fine—summoning days of summer in bloom, but it’s slipping away. Dandelion wine—just half a bottle, and everything’s fine. The barrel is dry as a bone—the snow is still falling like ash. The ceiling is starting to groan—then everything ends with a crash. Crushed like a rat in a trap— buried in beams of rough pine. It’s cold now, and catacomb black—dreaming of dandelion wine.
Another devastatingly beautiful batch of indie rock confessionals from Ontario singer, producer, and multi-instrumentalist Linnea Siggelkow. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 28, 2024