Self-imposed barbaric prison/Working on the marraige system/This ain’t no generic rhythm/Think this is esoteric listen/The songbirds are deafening/Definitely storm clouds, threatening/Desperately, crowds form menacing
from She Fades lyrics by Buck 65
Finding himself at the bottom of a well with no rope, a lost scribe pens his way to salvation. The production is sparse and subtle, with melodies and various soundbites fluttering about like drunk butterflies. It’s the only place where he can silence the noise and come to terms with a broken relationship.
