like a drowning man to driftwood,
grabbing, yet overwhelmed by whispers
can i call myself alive when by day i fade in to my mare's
and wishes that compel escape from what i've became.
while at night i dream realty as it should've been. for me able to perceive
the real life without resemblance to what i feel.
sick of dead ends, needless guidance, giving chances, i want silence.
silver, shows no reflections. mirror, where is your reaching hand!?
cant look at friends, they're statues that are about to speak,
caught up in between of their sickness, all i hear is the pianos crashing point,
do i really have to hide, behind walls.
names are just words to forget and go on through.
there is a ghost in my room, whispering countless words.
repeating memories until they wear out
as night becomes realty this face can hardly hide expressions,
unable to speak until sunlit hours. i guess its always about the questions that devour.
where were you when i needed you the most, why have i ended up with days of my ghost
On their debut record, the London hardcore upstarts cross-up mosh-ready fare with melancholic ambient passages, weeping guitars, and virtuosic vocal harmonies, but its romantic veneer is much more complicated than it seems. Bandcamp Album of the Day Jan 30, 2019
Specializing in bright, sunny "bedroom rock español," this Brooklyn singer-songwriter puts a unique spin on lo-fi music. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 18, 2024