Yaelokre - Harpy Hare [Slowed Down]

Описание: Lyrics: Yaelokre - Harpy Hare [Slowed Down]

Harpy Hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say
Harpy Hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say

All the arrows that you've stolen
Split in half, now bum and broken
Like your heart that was so eager to be hid
You can't keep them all caged
They will fight and run away
Mother, tell me so I say

Harpy Hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say
Harpy Hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say

Forest walls and starry ceilings
Barren curtains that you're weaving
Like the stories that you keep inside your head
She can't keep them all safe
They will die and be afraid
Mother, tell me so I say
(Mother, tell me so I say)

Harpy Hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say
Harpy Hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me, so I say

Harpy Hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say
Harpy Hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say!
(Tell me so I say!)

She can't keep them all caged
They'll be far and fly away
Mother, tell me you will stay
We'll be far and fly away.





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And lo! towards us coming in a boat
An old man, grizzled with the hair of eld,
Moaning: "Woe unto you, debased souls!

Hope nevermore to look upon the heavens.
I come to lead you to the other shore;
Into eternal darkness; into fire and frost.

And thou, that yonder standest, living soul,
Withdraw from these people, who are dead!"
But he saw that I did not withdraw..

– Dante's Inferno, Canto III





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“If anyone had been watching as the eight-thirty train hissed into the station and ground to a steaming halt, they wouldn't have noticed anything out of the ordinary about it: not about the conductors and porters who wrestled open its latches and threw back its doors; not about the mass of men and women, some in military dress, who streamed out and disappeared into the swarming crowd; not even about the eight weary children who filed heavily from one of its first-class cars and stood blinking in the hazy light of the platform, their backs pressed together in a protective circle, dazed by the cathedral of noise and smoke in which they found themselves.
On an ordinary day, any group of children as lost and forlor-looking as these would've been approached by some kindly adult and asked what the matter was, or whether they needed help, or where their parents were. But today the platform teemed with hundreds of children, all of whom looked lost and forlorn. So no one paid much attention to the little girl with tumbling brown hair and button shoes, or the fact that her shoes did not quite touch the floor. No one noticed the moon-faced boy in the flat cap, or the honeybee that drifted from his mouth, tested the sooty air, then dove back from whence it came.
No one's gaze lingered on the boy with dark-ringed eyes, or saw the clay man who peeked from his shirt pocket only to be pushed down again by the boy's finger. Likewise the boy who was dressed to the nines in a muddy but finely tailored suit and stove-in top hat, his face drawn and haggard from lack of sleep, for he hadn't allowed himself any in days, so afraid was he of his dreams.
No one more than glanced at the big girl in the coat and simple dress, who was built like a stack of bricks and had lashed to her back a steamer trunk nearly as large as herself. None who saw her could have guessed how stupendously heavy the trunk was, or what it held, or why a screen of tiny holes had been punched into one side. Overlooked completely was the young man next to her, so wrapped in scarves and a hooded coat that not an inch of his bare skin could be seen, though it was early September and the weather still warm.
Then there was the American boy, so ordinary, looking he hardly merited notice; so apparently normal that people's eyes skipped over him, even as he studied them, on tiptoe, neck swiveling, his gaze sweeping across the platform like a sentry's.The girl by his side stood with her hands clasped together, concealing a tendril of flame that curled stubbornly around the nail of her pinky, which happened sometimes when she was upset. She tried shaking her finger as one might to extinguish a match, then blowing on it. When that didn't work, she slipped it into her mouth and let a puff of smoke coil from her nose. No one saw that, either.
In fact, no one looked closely enough at the children from the first-class car of the eight-thirty train to notice anything peculiar about them at all. Which was just as well..”

~ Ransom Riggs