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Buried Gifts

by Beccy Owen



Written during the supermoon eclipse, May 2021.

This fell out pretty quickly and with a sense of ease, as songs very occasionally do.

It's a response to the sense that some things have to go into deep storage whilst we get through the tough bits in life, and it takes time and patience and sometimes a lot of hard work to recover those things, or even to remember they were there in the first place.

It's also in reference to the online communities and new or rebuilt connections many of us found ourselves in over the last few years.

This song is also an ode to songwriting itself, which, despite alluding me as a practice for large stretches, has also sustained me for twenty years now, for which I'm ever grateful.


On a Tuesday we meet at eight
With the seagulls still singing outside
My distrustful heart is being rebuilt
By this tribe, by this belonging
I won’t hide, from my own longing anymore

As I crawl out from seclusion
And all my beautiful delusion
I will carry in my belly all your care
All your muscle, buried gifts
We are vessels of it all

There never was a cool adventure
That didn’t feature some fear and doom
Follow fallow times just as you
Chase the moon call the children

And when we can’t speak for laughin’
And the dandelion snows around
We will carry in our bellies boundless things
Rivers bending
Buried gifts
My own longing
Lay an altar
We are vessels, of it all.


released December 2, 2021
Beccy Owen - Vocals and the rest
Produced and mixed by Beccy Owen
Mastered by Andy Walter at Abbey Road
Artwork by Beccy Owen


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Beccy Owen Whitley Bay, UK

Butter brings me out in ghosts

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