Fearful Thing

There is something in this sound reminiscent of an old motel on the edge of the desert - where neon lights flash and prayers mixed with confessions drift out of the bar. The guitar sounds as if it has been chewed up by time, the voice like a man who has already understood everything but continues to walk because there is simply no other way. In every word is the heat of a bonfire, around which both sinners and saints warm themselves.

This is not about religion, but about that moment when you finally stop pretending to be strong inside and hear something greater whispering: ‘Stop hiding.’ And then it becomes scary - but truly pure.