Sniff (feat. Jaxon Luxe)

In Balvamion, Zanora's, the airbends Blavrum, Welland, Dindin were sideways. A murmuring tide, a flicker of names At Nimgurin, at Balvamir, inland from Mirsun. Where the sea is only a memory. A woods but your aim, most angry they go Willimara, it crawls out. A sound through marrow of the rest. Mama shifts spaces between Merberberg, Berks, Teagherin, a language that curls. Folds itself hollow, overweighting I believe the parade is only woodworm. A ghost of movement inside the grain. You are the rubble of Wesen, a ringer in the vacant palm How I am blue-colored, sing at a wrangle. A man more like a shadow, or a dame. Or rude to this land of Lunaleaf You are a bloom, a gloaming old life. A rude hand, something that was once sung in a higher place You are a bloom, a gloaming old life