Ever woken from dreaming to the sound of yourself weeping, your cheeks raw and stained with tears? That sort of thing stays with you throughout the day and your clouded eyes can discern only death, despair, violence and heartache. A grey day indeed. A sparrow ripped from the trees by a rogue out of place hawk, feathers splay the ground like white blood. In a final act of desperation, the sparrow finds its way free and the hawk settles onto another branch, eyes sharp for another fool. I walk home, despondent and defeated, for even the positive omens mean little on a day like today.
Feeding Fingers Detach Me From My Head sure as fuck reminds me of The Cure Lament. So here you are my darklings, two tragic tracks for your aural pleasure. Stay warm.
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