By buying this track you join the fight against global warming. All income from this track will be directly donated to WWF Hungary. In reverse of every download, you will get artworks and the early demo version of the song as a gift, just email me: sungazersofficial@gmail.com.
Find out more about their climate change program:
wwf.panda.org/what_we_do/footprint/climate_carbon_energy/
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Taken from the upcoming EP, entitled: Narrow Lungs, How to Arrive Home is the final chapter of the Objects short story.
Chapter IX. How to Arrive Home
As the vinyl starts to slow down, the pitch of our voices also come to a deeper and even louder, scratchy tune. The shadows on the staircase grow higher and alien ghosts attack the room. Everything is even more transparent. How do you describe emptiness? If I gave you a piece of pale, white paper, how would you draw the void on it? I think I would draw myself on the paper. With all the reality I had to face before I started this journey. Everything is built up by desires. Everything is built up by dreams. The whole world we live in is hidden inside the feathers of a bird in a sky over no surfaces. The surface has fallen. You are the next bird in the row flying far from the one in which this exists. There are two lost dreams trying to catch each other. And that is the most beautiful thing I could ever imagine. I can’t see yours and you can’t see mine. The two birds could never meet, the two dreams could never be one because they would lose their meaning. In skies above no surfaces. In skies below no moons. Objectless, pale and frail little flickers in the ether we try to catch each other. We are dancing. Nothing remains on the vinyl. Not even that scratchy noise which was there for so long. I try to read your empty textbook too. Nothing. No diagrams, no letters, no words, just that measureless sky wrapped inside the papers. I walk to the mirror and stare in it. I can see your room in its beauty. The light of the after-rain sun paints it with inexpressible colors. I can see you in me. You are everywhere. You fill up those little timeless walls. You are dreaming this. We are all the same. We are dancing. We do not exist. All this starts to collapse and I am slowly waking up to the typewriter-noises in a time before I got to know you.
Read the full story here:
sungazersofficial.com/objects
Inspire back:
sungazersofficial.com/inspireback
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