and we ride on the aftermath as a subtle way of looking past we neglect our instincts and we live by the light of day to alleviate my own dismay i detain the process and everybody sounds their best it s the highbrow stream of consciousness in a looming prime depending on the absence or the distance all the time love like intuitive alarm a hail mary or a good luck charm dangled to clasp our interest and our faith lies in the deprived unknown you know that no one wants to be alone die young or impure and everybody sounds their best it s the highbrow stream of consciousness in a looming prime depending on the absence or the distance and it s a sad decline introverted romance in our troubled minds a trying pine depending on good fortune or coincidence all the time
['alabama indie', 'bubblegrunge', 'indie punk', 'small room']