On a weary horse. Slow traveling. It oozes idleness. Overview of the whole harmonic vestiges with no guarantee of survival. There is no more possible return. Dead opera, special section that has deserted and scattered in the desert moor. Beyond the soundtrack of our future lives, in the terminal stage. Vital pronostic engaged by the organ in commando-suicide transmission. Buxtehude is on sub, snorting the monorail at Benzo station. New dope to counter the feeling of existing, the gods are nervous, one proceeds to the miracle method for the deployment of underground geometries. It’s the dystopian hymn of our social lives’ simulacrum: at the gallery, I pry in the networks of death. It’s Blues crystal Low Down. Organon protocol is close, lights of hindsight, with no precise modulation, no chords, just the situation of ending, macabre triangulation, issued in poor conditions, the pathetic discipline, up to the distorting mirror of the human factor.
Lee Marvin (text)