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lyrics

My senses for seasons are skewed. I’m a letter in the mail that will never arrive. How did I do at getting out of this? At seeming confident? A constant search for validation. You’re the only one. The summer storm. I am tattered, finally open, a never ending novel. I’m a million little pieces on the floor of a house that you don’t live in anymore.

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from TYPESETTER - Wild's End, released September 1, 2015

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Hectic Society Records Wiesbaden, Germany

Aiming for counter-culture, not sub-culture since 2010

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