my backyard is an indian graveyard. at least that's what the old guy said i found wandering back there; pigeon in hand, beard to the ground, wearing nothing but the cool summer's air. he said he never gets tired cause he never feels sad. there's something missing from his organs. and he would feel down about not knowing the bittersweet but he doesn't and just shrugs his shoulders. after that intersection, i sometimes can still hear him chanting; mellow and full. it stings me and my eyes water for no reason; the yearning he feels to feel. what a pure and simple desire. it keeps going even when he is far gone. like a haunting ghost. his mist constant in the forest, like the trees' eyes are watering too. and so i believe him about that graveyard.

Brasstronaut - Old World Lies from Salazar on Vimeo.