From the "Breath" Album


If we were able to hear the planet speak, what might it sound like?


From the Internal Affairs Album



It is more than possible and highly likely that Angels come to visit with much to say.  This offering came from one of those moments.

One day while working on a song I kept hearing a sound like a phone ringing though no such thing had actually occurred.  So I took a chance and asked, "Who is that?"  Immediately, and quite clearly, I heard in my head, "Raziel".  

For the curious, Raziel is an archangel who is the "Keeper of Secrets" and the "Angel of Mysteries".

This song is dedicated to the "Ah-ha!" 


"Internal Affairs"



Gracie was by all appearances, just a cat.  However, if you are a cat person then you know that  there is really no such thing.  She was cantankerous, challenged and challenging.  She was one of the best lessons I have ever had.  It is enough to say for now that Grace taught Mercy how to dance. - Aio Sifu




Pre-release From the "Tribute" Album


This song is dedicated to all who gave their life for another's.


Lights in the Sky

By Aio Sifu of IOSND© 2013


Painted night sky strewn with bangs and sparkles.

Beautiful spangles of light cascading downward,

I frown at the sight wondering what’s wrong with me,

I love fireworks?  


My inner child grabs my hand and exclaims, “Come on let’s play”.

But I find myself only able to say, “Not right now baby”.

For I have found shame in my wonder of the lights in the sky.

I look deeper and find shrapnel and mortar; bodies floating

In the water, bloated and ghastly, with glass for eyes, staring past me.

Flashing red, white, and blues against 9 o’clock night, become orange and yellow,

The fellows of Rockets in flight, the ground trembling – or is that me dissembling that all is well?

For I see row upon row of fallen warriors and little white gravestones

But more than this is the blood in the ground and the brave bones

Of those we forget to remember when the pinwheels blaze overhead

While everyone else goes, “Ooo, how pretty”.


The wasted pity of Campaign upon campaign rolls before my eyes

The lives of the wounded and the weary given for mine

And all I had until this moment was the cow like sound of spectacle

And show causing me to know that something very important is missing.

 And still they come.  Still they come.  So many souls

So that I can sit here in my lawn chair.  And still they come 

While I had to be reminded to care.  My heart is struck down by the stricken

amongst the thronging, pointing crowd, “I will remember you”, I vow and am distracted

by the pretty lights  - yet grace has allowed comprehension to burst within them. 

Surface tension breaks and I grasp that I have been given a chance to get it right. 

This should not be a celebration of independence. 

This, I am told is a memorial service. 

A tutorial in prices paid, pathways laid, by the ones who stayed

to fight for me to watch in the 9 o’clock night.


And still they come

– now in chains and shackles. 

Fear crackling like lightning from strange ground underfoot. 

The sound of whips added to the chorus to brook no dissension.  

For them the mention of “free” is a revolving mystery where dark men

watching a dog’s life know envy.  I learn from them that warfare is not

what we think and know them to be warriors.


And Still They Come


Except now there are no uniforms, no powdered wigs, and 3 corned hats,

no Calvary, just villages about to be waylaid and overrun by avarice,

sleight of hand, and torture.  The mortar now disguised in smallpox blankets

and promises less than empty.  “Plenty for all”, they say of the “New World”

, lying to each other. 

New to whom?  Were we not here?   Did we not save you from your very selves?

Yet we died.  We die oh Manifest Destiny of genocide. 

The blood cries and warriors remain – traces of faces amidst the trees on foggy days. 

The decade of no consequence the campaign insignificant for warfare is a creature of its own

– devouring, scouring the world for whom it will…

To all these I give tribute, for any and all who came before

are part of that war that created the space for me to sit in my lawn chair place

with gaze cast upward; to know that these all are to be numbered

within each and every grain of Pyrotechnic powder in the night of July

and I shall remember to remember as I watch the lights in the Sky.

Will You?  






You are here for a reason.








Lights in the Sky - The Single


The Breathing Room

Moon Phase


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