Sexwitch
Sexwitch

Here, now and slowly. It is direct despite a wave. "And seductive, of velvet." Mainly stripped of the acid. In the dry, swollen tongue.

Six tracks handed down by the water, for the waves.

In the space without light, eyes on the skins of the drums and the sturdy strings, and among the mist of oriental fumes, the waves of condensation rest on the skin and merge with the sweat.

Tracks handed down, they have been around for a long time and know planet earth. They caress their chests like lions. A waterfall of sand creates a wave, and the wind disperses its most superficial parts, clouding the view and entering the mouth, crumbs of earth that inhabit our lungs. The iris cannot be controlled with hands, it flees, at times pure white, marries with saliva and slowly descends to the ground. Crushed to the ground by the weight of waves of fear and hysteria. The sound.