He woke up this morning, his hungover head pressing down on the warm red pillows
Whilst She was sat on the edge, of the white sheeted bed, with her two bare feet on the cold tiled floor
She was facing the wall, with her back to his face
And she heard his heavy breathing, and they felt this awkward feeling that was settling in the room
So in the deepest silence, He walked out.
She heard him in the shower, peeling off the skin, of whoever he was yesterday evening
He knows he wasn’t right, he didn’t keep his cool, but there’s something dark inside him that keep’s chewing on his flesh
Let it out
Leave him be
Tell her ‘bout it
No, he can’t. It’s nothing real, it’s nothing right, it’s everything, it is nothing, it’s all so vague, it’s all so hard, it’s all so black, it’s all so bright, a perfect day in the sun light, a rainy cloud above his head, his tangled hair, the drugs he takes, his heart so full of the frustration of spending his whole entire life being the complete opposite of who he always wanted to be.
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supported by 8 fans who also own “Sugar & Anxiety”
This one also took me a while to get into. It strikes me as less HC than Untitled and less poppy than Ultrapop (stupid I know). Let's call this the No Wave record. Its musical (and amusical) density is matching the persistent sound in my head right now. barnaby nygren