Time got stuck here, stuck in the abandoned farmsteads with the roses growing up through the floorboards. It froze in the headstones in the graveyards that stand alone in the wheat fields. It rots the towns, piling up like trash in the reservations. There are things out in the sagebrush deserts, lurking in the scab lands. There are more dangerous things than cougars in the mountains and coulees.

The final in my series of regional gothic mixes. This one is for Eastern Washington.

11 tracks