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about

Hemingway happened back when I still did things I won't remember to forget. Some sloppy-fogged no-stars night in Wayward, after stuffing a mag photo of Hemingway into the sound hole of a stringless, retired, world-wandered guitar hanging from the wall, he stared out telling me to grab a pen, and dictated, “...all die in an order comprehended by no one,
claiming without gun, the know of a foe from fight
that foals friend...” Get some rest Papa.

lyrics

Hemingway

Hemingway’s not dead
for he lives in the sound hole
of my Spanish guitar
His beard is still gray,
his eyes still pierce wonder
For his lips ripped asunder
the bone-bleaching blast
that erases all scar.

Bull or bull fighter
a life and death all-nighter
only reveal in the end
All die in an order
comprehended by no one
claiming without gun
the know of a foe
from fight that foals friend.

The sun also rises
same sunset disguises
From direction does
time take its cue.
From east to the west
Beginning to end
Its weave worn
reversible and loose

From shotgun to birth pang
The load and the big bang
Verse can accommodate all
Adding subtracting
Meager meter directing
The mystery
For whom the bell tolls

credits

from Springtime in a Foreign City, released April 29, 2017
Written by Sonofmel: guitar, vocal
Dogs: Maxwell, Mukwa
Cat: Cooper

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about

sonofmel Hayward, Wisconsin

Sometimes it takes traveling far from home to find out where one comes from... after combing the world for signs of the sacred among paths of the profane, Sonofmel returns with fistfuls of chords wrapped up in verse that declare though trouble never starves, somewhere high above the maladies of modern man, the sky is still as blue as when Adam first kissed Eve... ... more

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