from by Hannaka

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Your ghost that gave you thoughts and food,
All that sickness, in hibernation.
Oscillate the final blow, we find our bitter ways.

You have stopped mid-sentence in,
Freshly cut words that burn and tease and pull,
And then blow fragrance in again.
My foggy breath reasoned the air.
In outstretched limbs of despair.

Calling out.

Hush, to the forest, hail to the old.
Not a word to the world, no we utter none.
To long for the city to fall,
And notice every faultline.
I'm not exempt from the fault.

Calling out.

In muscled governance, and coerced sides.
In constitutions of freedoms,
We walled out the sunshine.
If I can't warm my heart.
Then I can't reach yours.

Fire come warm my heart.
Commune on my wood.
Fire come warm, burn into my skin,
My hope and break as I begin,

Naked to taste the edge.


from The Colour of War, released November 1, 2014
Hannaka - guitar/vocals
Guy Drory - percussion
Diego Rincon - Double Bass



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Hannaka Brisbane, Australia

Hannaka is a wild child of the earth. She draws on the breath of a wave or the solace of a mountain. In the embrace of the moon, words and music ensue.

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