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Pacing hotel room hallways. Trying to call you but not getting through. Driving congested highways, closing whatever space that I can. Calming, a calming effect that is only achieved by arguing with those kind enough to listen to you. And then there's me; I'm the quiet persuader. Willing things to just happen while everyone else is working, working for something. Oh, to accept the space between what we do and what we dream of! Every compromise, every sacrifice just builds up the shame. Is it so much to ask, to make a life out of this? I should be choosing my words but I'm throwing my fists. I should be building up a wall against a sedative complacency but nothing's gonna calm it down and no one's getting through to me. Just how much longer can we stay? Just how much more can we take? We should be making our marks but we're cleaning the walls.