Album Review, “Ten Summoner’s Tales” by Sting

Album Review, “Ten Summoner’s Tales” by Sting

There’s fans of Sting who just see him in released albums.  None of those people related in my introductory clause will truly witness the power he gives off in style for broken dreams among the spades floating under attention and privilege.  Analysis can be provided so much that we fail to get the whole picture the former singer of Police expresses on high notes towards the bittersweet end refined into loops of continuation for quality purposes, as pop gets the handle of rock and sad lullabies appeal to children stretching into “Fields of Gold”.  Ask Sting, ask him anything by pointing to an album and denying what pretensions hurt the cause of lies.  Vision is revamped again and again in “Ten Summoner’s Tales” until the whole album rings like a greatest hits compilation, brother to song and sister to chance along the lines of defeat admitted for creational happenings, determined in flow against sudden changes or else figuring the cause of religious destruction.  Opinions get tossed on its side where the pain is mistaken for the primary source of justice only for Sting to excuse the pardon coming across the board.  We have to consider, of course, the justice of simple things.  Usually we’re going about somewheres as far as the eye can see into mortality on lost families and beliefs since ignition is stated as fact through quick dismissals stringed into music, only to leave justice blank because love is so important for biased royalty on Sting’s part.  What stories can we tell on poker when the cards fail at a match drawn under ancient makeup?  Guess you can say a lot about that; I’m just pointing where the future is on a cautionary tale proven in album-listening hobbies as whereupon fantasy grinds to a halt in enough time to save money on temporary injuries refused by Sting before those configurements lessen fashion to its strange mythology dreamed of, provided for on musical talents within the creative borders towards a vacuum upon the masses.  Yes, I’m using a lot of secondary cousins in my vocabulary to hint at more messages than they’re actually written on my trust for Sting’s shifting, rock-hard vibes nearly ruined from a softening pop of jazz and unknown regions of poetry- songs pass by on the notes which drift closer to sanity than exact notion for what’s untouched by the walking dead, even where prophecy burns subtleties into healthy ashes as near to the calling gold as to destructive seers.  Maybe I’m in quite a bit of anxiety on “Ten Summoner’s Tales” but at least I’m honest about blissful disinterest observed in my fashion on Sting’s glory of ego tuned on more drifting than stillness.

https://youtu.be/KLVq0IAzh1A