If you look too long into the abyss, the abyss starts looking back.

Beneath the Surface

Analog Love

Silence is heavy, but the drop is heavier.

I don't want to look, but I have to look.

I open up my mouth to speak the truth, but something slippery is growing in the tooth.

I'm that cold type. Make your father old type.

Now I am cynical.
Mommy doesn't know the truth.

You think I’m glass?
I’m something else.
You think I’ll pass?
I’ll raise hell.

whispers, and distorted drops that shake the walls. It’s not just music, it’s static friction