Stretched with no slack, resigned to repetition, grated strings singe plectrum after plectrum. The wound strums, wounded, resonate through hollows as Silvia Kastel aims anti-aircraft vocalizations at malefic heights. Guest percussionists follow the leaders with brick-heavy mechanizations. Hardwired hard lines cannot stall the climb.
The astral projections of gray shivers and echoes sail close to the wind, skirting it then steaming forward through circuitous streams, formed by burned rubber, of odd upended evensongs: meditations that got the nose of evil and tread while remaining in the cosmos, peaceably enveloping, nosediving over void.
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