The summit's drowned in this languid run-down fog,
And we're walking and walking with our eyes drawn to this never ever seen crown,
But we won't be kings.
The vague bodies trudge along your side and you trip you're tripping stop tripping
But these obstacles are like body-mines and we set each other off like bitter-red flares,
Morse codes beyond our ken, though some just thought they were fireworks.
And we sort ourselves into senseless stocks
Since someone someday for some reason said something in cross-shaped spiels.
released February 17, 2012
Written by Seila Chiara.
Guitars, Bass and Voice recorded at home by Seila Chiara.
Drums recorded at Silversheep Studios.
Mixed and mastered by Benoit Bel at Mikrokosm Recording Studios.
Lyrics by Rémi Komornicki.