Fire in our hands
Psychedelic garage noise with heavy distortion, raw 60s underground energy, avant-garde experimental chaos, eerie descending melodies, shadowy trance-inducing textures, surreal soundscapes spiraling downward, distorted acoustic guitar riffs, haunting flute lines, anthemic despair, bizarre and grand arrangements falling into the abyss
There’s a war in the mirror, a storm in the smile, We’re chasing our shadows, mile after mile. We talk about peace, but we sell it for fame, Then wonder why nothing feels sacred again. Oh the fire still burns in our hands, But we’re lighting the wrong end again. And the wind hums low through the land — Whisperin’, “Change begins within.” We traded our rivers for dust and machines, Painted the silence with profit and screens. Still, under the static, a heartbeat remains — Soft as forgiveness, wild as the rain. Maybe love’s not a word but a way to be, Maybe freedom’s the space between you and me…
