Early morning, the street sweeper passes; a ribbon of clean tarmac follows like a fresh thought. I step around yesterday’s leaves, damp and articulate. Somewhere upstairs, a radio tries a chorus twice, then finds it. I turn the kettle and listen.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
Early morning, the street sweeper passes; a ribbon of clean tarmac follows like a fresh thought. I step around yesterday’s leaves, damp and articulate. Somewhere upstairs, a radio tries a chorus twice, then finds it. I turn the kettle and listen.