UK, 1970, progressive rock / art rock

King CrimsonIn the Wake of Poseidon: “Merman” and “mermaid” seem like such innocuous words. First of all, they’re not maids. They know what a bed of seaweed feels like, and they know the salty taste of human blood. A merday morn isn’t some holiday to the seaside or a bit of sea bathing–or if it is, it’s your last. For this morn it’s a raid, an attack of the bloodthirsty seafolk from the deep, in that grey hour before the dawn, when tired mothers whisper lullabies to their stirring babies to try to keep them asleep for an hour longer.

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