Gutted worn-out ties tethered to city lines. Orphaned an ideology, only the parasites survive polluted social climates-- shit-foundation birthed. I wish you nothing but the worst.
Wounded psalms, phrases I no longer speak, near expiration dates-- go gracefully retreat with uncertain syntax, unwanted empathy, with what could have followed each unspoken ellipses. I stomped out old embers. Ripped up every receipt. I left it all, left with an instance of relief.
Capacity of change. A view forever from atop the Blue Ridge mountain range. Five hours headed east on Interstate 40, from the Foothills to the Atlantic. The ocean absolved my feet. And manic turmoil inside me got washed away to sea. I’ve been waiting so long to finally feel free.
But when the tide returns, terror waves come crashing back to me.
Annuals constantly push and blur genre boundary lines between everything you've both heard and never heard before with each release. Check out their entire discography (if you haven't already). Ryan Christopher Dean
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