It starts with distant thunder born under skies, dressed in ochre. Pressure rising up and over the anticipating land.
Under layers of white noise and through the static, sounds a voice. I want to hear the song it sings again (and again, and again)
I remained outside, with every nerve alive. Lightning struck without remorse and gave a cue to move indoors. The TV died, as did the lights. In the dark the radio came to life.
Under layers of white noise and through static, sounds a voice. I want to hear the song it sings again (and again, and again) The secret station of my choice... Forgotten music in the noise, inviting me to dance a minor dance.
Faded an ethereal music that is dying to be heard. Desperate to mesmerise and capture our hearts.
Wander in beauty, and wonder where I've been...
Faded a ethereal music that is dying to be heard. Desperate to mesmerise and capture our hearts (again) Aided by a thunderstorm, I came upon this station from old days. I intend to seek it out again when I need shelter from the rain.