into the light flooded darkness, or something like that. everything looks beautiful in the dark, or so they say.
the sound of niGHt is hard to fathom at first, but becomes clear once your eyes adjust. broken folk & warped lullabies beckon you to a land of misanthropic idealism, absolutely heaving with illusions of grandeur.
niGHt is so called after that which gave it life. it sounds like a mess kept at a safe distance. it's not really there, but you know it is. you can't ignore it forever.
everyone is asleep, the phone doesn't ring. in the distance chaos is pretending to exist. it's nothing like reality, it's spiteful, but means no harm. it's sneaking out of your window in the darkness, trying not to be heard. but at night all sounds are magnified. it's not real, but you think it is. it's imperfections are what makes it imperfect.
maybe it's irrelevant, but surely it's worth saying.
