Typewriter stopped on the blank white page while fingers dab a desk, turning what will always be into another form of death. It’s a bomb that lives inside your head telling you how to think, a dictionary that lives beside your bed so quiet in words to speak. You try to understand but you can’t understand what’s in your head. This headache building up in your eyes floats to the top and pours out on the sides as you try and you try to describe what’s in your head.
I love the intensity of the track FATAL. It builds up and up to the final climax. The other tracks on the EP are also great though a bit more experimental, and less accessible, but give me an indication of the Debby Friday sound and (hopefully) future direction. Graham_Just_Graham