With crayon shoes and spray-on hair, they sauntered out, seduced by summer air.
"So you were right, and i were wrong, it really is shorts weather."
Emotions were riding high, childish anguish and love in the air,
despite the summer holiday syndrome,
despite the bottomless overdraft,
she couldn't stand to be around ego-centric sarcasm.
Then there were three.
She left them these words...
"I can't escape,
I can't escape the race"
Girl you look so different without any of that make up on,
he'd never seen, he'd never known,
so he put the picture up on the wall.
He looked her in her longing eyes,
in which he did epitomize
the tenuous
and treacherous
need for a sense of purpose.
And suddenly he could appreciate the value of her love.
Because he can't escape,
he can't escape the race.
They went round her house when the party was over,
she was there on the sofa, attractively sober.
"Tell him from me, I don't want to be a chivalrous bitch,
'cos that ain't my thing. And tell him to stop distancing me,
'cos he is the only escape for me."
This Chicago quintet use classical and contemporary instrumentation to craft this beautifully contemplative ambient release. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 2, 2023