Omen has a bit of the renegade country spirit, channels some restless ghosts of an Arkansas still haunted by the War of Northern Aggression (that's the Civil War for the Yanks out there), and manages to be sorrowful and wistful without becoming a weepy country-cliché parody of itself -- Hybrid Magazine

Faded Moon - Tim Buck Faded Moon in the bright of day like an omen before battle I try to find my passage way through the wolves and the cattle I brace my nerves for the modern street Vehicles, like beast of Hannibal This market place is as complete As the fear of a cornered animal I go to work for the bread of life I take my nights with no gimmick I Pirouette on the point of a knife What is this flesh with me in it But looking over my shoulder Is someone following me I swear I know I saw something was it angels in the blakeian tree Looking over my shoulder is something gaining on me I swear my unfaith is shaking is there a ghost in this big machine How do you shake off ancient superstition How to you weather a flood of faiths How do you leverage your position when time like a night mare raves I brace my nerves for an act of passion or is that tension on the gears Love becomes algorithmic action if survival is the idea. But Looking over my shoulder is something aloft in the wild I swear I know heard footsteps soft as the kiss of a child Looking over my shoulder was something tender and mild grouping through teeth and claws reaching out with a lovers' smile But looking over my shoulder is someone following me I swear I know I saw something was it angels in the blakeian tree Looking over my shoulder is something gaining on me I swear my unfaith is shaking is there a ghost in this big machine But all I See is a Faded Moon. - Copyright 2008 - Words and Music Tim Buck