cantor David Sylvian

When The Poet Dreamed Of Angels
She rises early from bed, runs to the mirror. The bruises in...

The Ink In The Well
The lights of the ashes smoulder through hills a...

Some Kind Of Fool
Maybe I'm wrong I should just keep moving on... I suppose. B...

Darkest Birds
Here come the darkest birds To burst the bubble End of a per...

The Scent Of Magnolia
In the cow-dust hour Something's going down Whatever pierced...

Victim Of Stars
Words are blinded and the bows released lights tiny arrows p...

When Poets Dreamed Of Angels
She rises early from bed, runs to the mirror. The bruises in...