And who will write love songs for you
When I am lord at last
And your body is some little highway shrine
That all my priests have past
That all my priests have past
My priests they will put flowers there
They'll knell before the glass
But they'll wear away your little window love
They'll trample on the grass
They'll trample on the grass
And who will aim the arrow
That men will follow through your grace
When I am lord of memory
And your armor has turned to lace
Your armor has turned to lace
The simple life of heroes
The twisted life of saints
They just confuse the sunny calendar
With their red and golden paint
Their red and golden paint
And all of you have seen the dance
That god has kept from me
But he has seen me watching you
When all your minds were free
When all your minds were free
And who will write love songs for you
When I am lord at last
And your body is some little highway shrine
That all my priests have past
That all my priests have past
The first single from the forthcoming full-length from Gileah Taylor is a hushed, lovely folk number with a quietly moving melody. Bandcamp New & Notable Feb 23, 2024
Canadian singer, cellist, and producer filters sobering reflections on grief through a buoyant, balmy dream-pop lens. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 13, 2022