from by OLD LOVE

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She stands by the light and feeds on the moths. They help with the heart. Constricting the loss. Replacing the doubt that comes with commitment and when there is love she'll simply ignore it. She came from the highest. A gift from the low set. She sat by the stone and begged for the 'cid to absolve us. Like a blizzard in a desert, it was a skill set meant for madness. Yet it remains. The constant numbness that comes from monotonous ownership. She only listens to Division. It eases the tension. She takes comfort in the thought that the voice had long left us. A spectre with a tone of knowing what's coming. A special resolve with allowing a flooding, submit to the rip, she'll sink with her ship and fold her arms as if nothing is happening. And gave nothing but cold eyes. She could move mountains, if she could feel them. A guide by sight would not succeed, a lucky retreat, but not fulfilling her dream. And there's exhaustion in the way she moves. The dance not a dance, but rather her last chance to reclaim her home when there's no place left to go. This is catharsis, and it of the purest. The lines are a guide to tell her where the resentment can reside but there's no backing for expedition. No team on the verge to conquer the unknown. "I'm alone! Anemone! Daughter of wind! The mother of all design, save our hearts and tell us where to lie”. And when in the gateway there's writhing in her soul, and a dread that dying probably won't resolve the way her dreams never yield anything but bits of hope destined to dissolve. “I'm alone! Anemone! We're alone! And waiting to dissolve!” When there's a mirror on site an immediate saliva reaction. She must spit at the face that glares her direction. This could be mistaken for aggression, but don't be fooled, it's just ridding herself of what she calls venom. A flair up of the adrenal glands. She's set the alight the sacred straw man. And there's something in the wrath that moves her. She's forgetting desire. And regretting the regret. Now a machine will remove what's left. There's a discomfort to it, but it is needed to gain one's admiration. And a need to feed. A fool to sink when she floats. And her breathe makes her sick, she continues with the shit because to cease to live would be victory for them. "I'm through being weak, now I will feast”


from PERVERSION, released March 24, 2016



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OLD LOVE Melbourne, Australia

"Thanks to your gloomy music, they've finally stopped dreaming of a future we can't possibly provide".

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