Браслеты

The track sounds like a street where clouds hang low overhead and bracelets on wrists jingle louder than promises. There is little tea, little warmth, but there are plenty of swings of fate that toss you up and down again and again. In this circus, there is honesty worn out, a thread of life hanging on by a thread, and faith that still keeps you from falling. The music smells like rain, damp wood, and tobacco smoke, and inside, there is a stubborn “we live as we are.”