Frost

Indie pop, slow-building 65 bpm pulse; raw acoustic dry mix tuned to 432Hz, high-fidelity spatial audio, pristine wide-dynamic stereo and polished mastering; weathered gravelly male baritone with Southern American accent, close-mic breathy fragile verses, call-and-response backing voices, desperate torn chorus with cracking high notes and gang-vocal shouts on the hook; solo grand piano, ambient strings ensemble, soft distant cinematic percussion and resonant bass

Captured by regret as the engines whine I am waiting for the chill to take me Hoping that the wings grow skin of ice To keep this steel trap grounded I yearn to feel the Winter in my blood And slow my heart until it’s silent You stand at home, boots firm in the mud A wet soil and your broken promise Inside my bones I feel the soothing smile Telling me you’d follow to the northern line But every piece is left behind The belt is a chain Look at the clouds They trap me in a frozen shroud Soak my bones until I’m numb Begging for the frost to take me I want the cold to stop my lungs from moving Come fill my veins with crystal red And stop my shattered mind from proving That the pewter sky waits on the other side To make the skyline smaller The belt is a chain Look at the clouds They trap me in a frozen shroud Soak my bones until I’m numb Begging for the frost to take me The comfort in what lies in wait Is a bitter freeze to slow my limbs From seeking out a warm embrace The belt is a chain Look at the clouds They trap me in a frozen shroud Soak my bones until I’m numb Begging for the frost to take me

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