Droneroom-‘Piss Poor.’ (Sweet Sounds Records #7)

Nothing spoiled, wasted, or left to the black blue birds with incredible height, and distance, nothing… Every piece of this body harvested, cured for complete assault. Exhales through muted silhouette without words reaching for remaining body, the rest lies sideways in black frozen creek… Freezing digital, lonely with clear chipped arrow in hand, odd exhausted smoke falls out mouth while wire rests against pale horse. Rotted Tarot with splinters, and without future… Grinding fish to a silver soup studying newspaper romance with old blood background.

This release from Droneroom is a sacrafise of particles, and thick twisted carbon vain pumping hotflash into a soft dress. Punching in gold backbone, and wrapping iron with Cairo limb. Blake Edward Conley… You already know my man.


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