Push your fingernails into the sand. This is no playground, this lonely land. Come with a bucket, leave on your hands, and another year rolls along. I come for a favor. I've come to ask you to do for me all that I can't seem to do. A century bloom for an everyday sum, an opera out of your whispering stone. You can scream at the sky, it won't recognize. Lick your own tears: the well, it's run dry. Run in circles and ask yourself why you keep going back to the desert for a drink.
from Eight Tracks,
released June 29, 2014
Ana Balka: vocals, electric guitar
Dave Felce: guitar