Running captive in a greyscale room, I am lost and losing. In moving mirrors I move myself. You falter and grieve, unhinged by the rage unseen. In search of reprieve, designs of death and anguish breed. Aghast I proceed, upon halcyon dreams, despite no respite, no need – upon hell's seat. Through misted windows lies an arcane world, demonic wings unfurl. A voice equivocal, yet luring and dulcet sings softly of ways from here. In moving mirrors I lose myself to memorabilia.
This home drifts the unknown. A hollow house with no beguile, no thought worthwhile. Alone. Drenched to the bone. All medicated smiles abate, but all are wrong. Write the song.
Can a revolution save us all from paralysing greed? Am I rising up to take a fall? A harrowed muse
concedes with the sonic need on which these paranoias feed. Can a revelation save a soul with a memoir of misdeeds? One plea, between the volume racks and the scattered stacks of conceit.
A view of these two worlds from in-between dusk and dawn's seams. This home, a weathered mass of stone unchecked. Untold. To sow in salted lands with rueful hands.
from Social Media Circus,
track released July 25, 2015
Recorded at Empora Studios by Mark Roberts
Mastered at Hell Yeah! Mastering.