All music by Low Dérive.
All lyrics by Fabio Poma and Andrea Melandri.
Produced by Low Dérive and Mauro Scarfia.
Recorded, mixed and mastered by Mauro Scarfia in our practice room on 09/12/2015, contact him at adamantinesmile[at]gmail[dot]com
Recording is fun.
I know it’s getting cold and my arms are getting sore. We wait for something great for us, for our perfection what we really are is seeds overgrown. Watching the taillights running by -kids leaving broken satellites hanging out a sixth floor window to the sky. Kids feeling broken satellites -unwritten pages catch on fire like they are just some forgotten expectations. We are a fucked up world I learned it since the day I was born. Some leaves keep on hanging, on what they used to call home we really see they don’t belong. Watching the taillights running by- kids leaving broken satellites hanging out a sixth floor window to the sky. Kids feeling broken satellites -unwritten pages catch on fire like we used to be the road we walked to get home trying hard to get lost or what they say it’s deflaction, are we losing deception? Do they know what we know?
Track Name: Pattern of Lost Connection
Everyone’s denying us, kids floating high into the unknown. I don’t wanna stop until we fall- Still looking for directions, cynical comprehension, was a golden quiet we’ve been waiting for? Will it be my slow pace- how can anybody just go their way? You should have asked what are we waiting for. Pattern of a lost connection hidden under the impression of losing touch with whom I care. It plays along with this broken chord, the time that we waste trying hard to relate. It will be a great escape from this decay so dear what are you waiting for? Wait for me, wait for me, I got lost on my way to you.
Track Name: Kintsugi
I’ve started asking myself are you alive - are you dead? Sitting on the same steps freezing, police asking us for ids. We've wasted every moment, we could have swallowed our token and found out we were not alone. The taste on my tongue when we try to stay young is fitting nowhere. It left us with no place go. Getting lost it’s our effort, being stuck here the reflection. It sounds like we do not care but I fear I’m losing myself. On that cold step we get old . The taste on my tongue - the firm belief to stay young fitting in nowhere and lasting to hold on to something. On that cold step we get old.