Mailbox rebellion. The phone plays possum. An hour has passed since you emptied your glass—memories are holding you hostage. The halo you traded for vagabond dreams, daring the distance to say what it means. Seasonal lovers asleep in your arms, their reasons as strange as their place in your heart. Sky-scribbled sighs, stone-chiseled moans, spinning your wheels across limbo's lawn. Tomorrow a slave to yesterday's pain, but today is today is today. So follow the river, water it down, swallow the sea, chase it with cloud. Cut out the shards asleep in your soul. Master the whispers that muster the bold. Bind your will tight and bury it deep, where even the worms are unable to breathe. The muse is alone, she's yours to approach, her shield is in pieces, her lovers are ghosts. And here in the attic the shelves wander off—miles of magic and mischief unlocked. Ceiling and walls all gather in shadows, pickling their stories in world-weary hollows. Invisible windows, a diffident door: the trap in the floor with woodwork rapport. Here we are alone. Here we are unleashed. Time is in ruins and mind is the arrow.

Nomadic Attic is a musical collective based in Brooklyn, NY. For more free listening, visit:

www.nomadicattic.bandcamp.com