Homecoming is a strong word, especially for someone who already lives in the London area. Yet the return of Porcupine Tree to Wembley Arena felt like precisely that. Since those, ‘final’ gigs at
Perhaps life is a momentary twist in fate and time, within which
Sentience has its chance to exist. From nauseous, harsh
First discovery of air and light, the celestial clock starts to tick
“Perhaps this is the day…”
“Perhaps ideas will spring like blades of grass
Pushing forth from winter 's fall…”
“That moment of sheer joy…”
There is no poetry here.
The peeling paintwork
Tender shoots no more may stretch
Toward the light, no robust roots
To push through soil, and sand ,and loam
Where once the fragile buds of spring
Formed blossom, nectar laden,
Glistening with
The top of the hill is a place where I linger
Casting my gaze on the people below
Taking my time as I let my eyes wander
Nothing to say, and nothing to
