The wind upon the windowpane makes sounds that echo our cries - externalized repine, through the wan and gusty doom… It happens all the time. And even while the fleeting feet of youth echo away, the silence will have gained - over harsh and withered plains. Cacophonies of silences are bound between the walls - the spaces in our skulls, where we all first learned to crawl… I’m longing for the time. And even though remembrances might plunge, inducing pain - so careless a refrain - we’ll haunt those quiet halls. These are the days, these are the days: Impaling spears of silences. A cicatrix of empty rooms… What happened to the time? The clover leaf of summer wilts and all the pixels, grayed. Still remains. Maybe the drums might sound again… again… again… Again. The sun drips down the windowpane, another day dissolves again. The moon replies, our hearts in flames. We’ll never love like once, again. The sun is stalled, the window’s stained; the ‘sill belies an empty frame. Dawn will rise, beyond the window. The dawn will rise, somewhere, again.
Across their second full-length, the London post-punks offer up thrumming motoriks, industrial tones, and sullen sing-a-longs in abundance. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 17, 2024
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Its exquisite sense of order parallels that of a physical theory. Science is the organization of our knowledge in such a way as to command more of nature's hidden potential. Likewise do these notes command our coldbeats in step with our heartbeats. The Human Remains