The Bugmaster:
.: Dan Tyminski :.
The Bugmaster:
.: What We Were :.
The Bugmaster:
.: Sinking Slowly :.
The Bugmaster:
Funny little thing don't cry. There's always an answer to the why. "What's my use;" you always ponder. “In this enchanted world of wonder?” If yours the earth has yet to see. Then say “weep no more” and let it be.
The Bugmaster:
.: The River :.
The Bugmaster:
.: I Saw Heaven For A Moment :.
The Bugmaster:
.: Mandolin & Bass :.
The Bugmaster:
.: Chris Thile :.
The Bugmaster:
.: Majestic Power :.
The Bugmaster:
A chill still clings upon this place. While the moon still shows it's mighty face. The growth seems stunted in the earth. While Spring awaits it's glorious rebirth. But Winter hasn't had it's fill. And we must wait for the sunlight's thrill.
The Bugmaster:
What bored photographers do with their time
The Bugmaster:
Hotwheels
The Bugmaster:
.:The Study of Dragons:.
The Bugmaster:
My love like flames I keep alight, through fear and pain and dark of night. And sitting here by candle light, I wait for you to hold me tight.
The Bugmaster:
.:Supper Time:.
The Bugmaster:
.:The Magician's Dinner:.
The Bugmaster:
These golden moments they slip away. The winter's coming fast. The fields are reaped and turned to hay. And Autumn now is past.
The Bugmaster:
Twelve horses had been stolen. Twelve wooden ones carved. Twelve souls did he transfer. Into his carousel ride.
The Bugmaster:
Woe to the bird that makes its nest within the forbidden forest. And woe to the four footed beast who treads over it’s undefiled soil. For not only the ground of that place is sacred, but the roots and limbs, the soil and the leaves, and even the sky.
The Bugmaster:
.:Ghostly Nightlife:.
The Bugmaster:
.:The Weeping Bishops:.
The Bugmaster:
.:The Skinny Building:.
The Bugmaster:
"What gain is it to you, little bean plant, to climb so high on those strings and poles, does it really matter how high you reach? For when Summer is over, and Fall has come, you shall be harvested just like the rest."
The Bugmaster:
Pick me a star and plait it in my hair. I have a love for you that nothing can tear. Bring me a flower of the sky. Let time stand still for you and I.
The Bugmaster:
Time seemed to stop, but the world rushed away from me. My window of escape seemed to diminish into the distance.
The Bugmaster:
In the darkness of the silent forest an idea was concieved. It sprung forth from the weeds of the good earth. It the drifted down from the green leaves of the trees, and it rained down from the clouds in the great Heavens.
The Bugmaster:
And the Heavens burst forth in all their glory with the sweetest colors of white and grey.
The Bugmaster:
There is a magic in this place like no other. One could easily say that it was like flying, the wind in one's face, and the sting of wild rain upon one's cheek.
The Bugmaster:
It must be a sad world for those who do not see God's Handwork in all the creations of the earth.
The Bugmaster:
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. Psalm 23:2
