Something music for an empty room decorated in 1 day old of dust, hey sorry is the microphone working, can you hear me?

I don’t know if we shiver in dreams but take the spiral tips of the tops of a shiver and make that the strings
Make the piano a harbour shaped thumb through a window made out of the population of an outside-faraway forgotten feeling, obscure and warm sometimes, always unwinding, somewhere –

– The synthetic intonations will take care of themselves like a thick layer of concept, the coastlines of your convictions making out to each-other a few words recalled from a speech given by the sky as their sandy endings sweltered hot in the in the in the in the in the – rest –

If you think long enough with little fluster then maybe you might hear her sing, and you won’t wake up fathoming, like the distance between your ears; measured apostrophes in a non-pressing way, always reassuring without, the night plunders left-over light, no worry –

Go support the label called Home Normal in Tokyo, this imperfect experience from Konntinent – sounding like 100% green lights and prospective motions, touching y x zzz, anything to properly behold, to which you may now switch-!


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