This vast lake, tranquil beneath a terminal sky. Lying, floating amidst a wash of mirrored stars, drifting peacefully as the atmosphere burns…
‘Floating, weightless, the pressure holding me as though it were a vice. I hung in stasis for what can only have been eternity, somewhere between sleep and death…’
We felt the fire before we saw it. The heat stung our eyes, grasping at our throats, suffocating us.
We walked for days. The fleeting image had been more than a figment of our collective imagination, we knew it, and so we followed the trail of crooked lights deeper into the wilderness than any soul had dared go before us…
The forest was dark, mysterious, but not foreboding. Ethereal lights strung across the branches above our heads danced in an effortless breeze, their glow bouncing primordial shapes across ancient oak…
BMTH deserve a mountain of praise for even having the balls to do this album, never mind to have pulled it off with such finesse. It must be an incredibly fine line to walk between staying true to your own creative goals, and not alienating the people who allowed you to be in that position in the first place.
Writing up this week’s entry has been such a bizarre experience. Normally I’m not one to be stuck for something to say, but writing about my own track is like staring into the looking glass the wrong way.