Here in the winter's cold. Reminders from our days of old. Deadly to one's discomfort. Dearly turning us back to dirt. Taking mankind back to her fold. Skin burned from the winter's cold. Flesh laid on plates of sand and coal. Faces buried in their mother's coat.
Lone bodies desiring touch, while lonesome minds begin to rot. In a complex sewer system of thoughts, that spits us all in parking lots. Where minds go dwell on rush hours, as young souls watch without power. Saddened by what could have been theirs, under their quite fashionable hair.
Dismembered by four horses that meticulously dissect, with the strength of combined forces made apocalyptically correct. Creating more from the same mold, pieces and bits around the globe. Yet lonelier as a result, than what we were when we were old.
The lead singer of punk band Camp Cope ventures into romantic synth-pop territory, tempering slick arrangements with bare sentiment.
Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 8, 2020
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