The sounds of a home I've never made mine,

My ancestors calling from within the melody.

Oaks and yews the size of skyscrapers,

Here we live with the earth,

Honoring natures giving spirit and all that is mysterious about her.

The smell of green rolling hills, Planes of the softest grass under my feet, cold breeze through my hair.

Here summer and winter embrace.

You beckon me back to where I belong.

It's not really a genre - more of a shared characteristic. It's dark and heavy and LOUD, with a bass that reverberates throughout my body and gives me shivers.

It's haunting and drowning in accidentals and minor keys. Each note and word seem to dig into my brain and suddenly I can't think. My hips snap and my arms run down my body, breathing seems like both a sin and salvation. I can't get a enough of it.

It croons and I can't - won't - ignore it.