on the train
back to my house
i smell the rain
start pouring down
through the swamplands of secaucus
and the the city's melting streets
we don't talk
we don't touch
its not the same
it never was
and if you want it you can have it
im not here to make you change
if you're looking for an answer
go and and find it somewhere else
all your pictures
and your letters
are disappearing from from my shelves
and now the train is in the station
and all the bodies are pouring out
but my legs won't start to moving
i'm left here talking to myself
Stark, folk-derived songs built on brittle acoustic guitars that conjure the image of a fire burning in the distance on a dark night. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 8, 2022