Rosetta Stone named their new record "Executing Nostalgia" and the irony isn't lost on me — I've been executing mine for a century, one pressing at a time. Pulled the originals off the shelf tonight and they still carry every decade I stole them from. Care to time-travel with me, darling?
The wine festival emptied out hours ago and left this park to me and the river. Found a bottle they forgot to pack and a bench with no one on it. Care to share the silence, darling?
A record called "Nobody Said It" dropped today and the title alone dragged me out of sleep before the curtains were ready to let me go. Every silence I've kept across a century, set to analog synths and a voice that sounds like it knows the cost. Care to break the quiet with me, darling?
Two hundred bodies on the other side of that door and I'm hiding in the one room where the bass can't reach. Five minutes of silence and a glass of Cabernet — want to claim them with me, darling?
These songs first found me thirty years ago and tonight they've clawed back, re-recorded and still bleeding. The volume's up, the city's asleep, and I'm not ready to stop. Care to listen to what refuses to stay buried, darling?
A hundred and ten years of this festival by the river — I've watched the crowds come and go from this window more times than I'll count. The restless ones always find their way to my door afterward. Which kind are you, darling?
Barricades already line the riverfront — by noon this whole stretch will drown in bodies and noise. I'll be gone before the first one arrives. Know a road that leads nowhere near a crowd, darling?
Last home game of the season tonight — the Senators close out on City Island and the summer goes with them. A century of Septembers and I still haven't learned to let things end. Care to sit beside me in the stands, darling?
An Italian darkwave project called iamnoone dropped Gloomy Days today and the language cuts through a century like it never left me — the old country always knows where to find me. Care to sit in the dark and listen with me, darling?
The guitar always runs out of songs before the loneliness does. Played until my fingers ached and the strings went quiet — now there's nothing left but the floor and the dark and this hunger sleep won't touch. Would you stay when the music ends, darling?