sidemucking from prusted sunbean by ANAZANAUT

In the corner sits one who has fallen through the cracks into a kind of soft space where only whispers disturb the stale air. From this vantage point, the ghosts seem almost hospitable as they shamble from one dusty heap to another. Memories are no more than faint veils of perception blown into fluttering tatters by the breezes of time. It is only in the dust accumulating on the crevasses that the disruption of motion leaves any mark. Old wood cracks dry and brittle beneath the footfalls of one last seen crouched behind the wardrobe for fear of being observed. No more than a shadow of some potential never realized, the aches and moans of decrepit aging form the only monologue uttered in this tomb. Each breath billows out the fetid stench of putrified remains as the gasps become more desperate and faint. It is no more than a dying ember too dim to ignite the fires that once burned here.

Tracklist