Track 8. Portugal. the Man - Ruby Magic.
Track 8. Portugal. the Man - Ruby Magic.
Only circles, discs suspended in great expanse. One day We’ll find a course, a matrix to slip within to form a purpose. We link as one band, free from time. The waiting is hollow and eternal, the gasp of what begins or ends, if there is a difference. Cold and purposeless, We spin as always, spin will always, invisible at angles you’ll find from various vantage points from heaven. We and I are no Ocean, We and I are no tangible manifest; though We are greater than spirit, denser than ether. Imagine Us as the ghosts of every trail of rocket, as every light seen through gas that blurs and varies. As the mist of mornings. The breath of quaking geysers. Impossible to hold as We are, someday We will find a home to fill, a blank space to become a catalyst. Flint or steel or both. We’ve come to you from the distance, in the shape of ghosts or words you’ve never heard. We’ve arrived in your atmosphere as a soft audible glow that separates you from silence. Nature and industry married, as vast and immense, completely white washing the mind. The sound you hear through the pin prick right before a car crash. The vacuum growing as the lights rush out.
