21 synth-laden tracks bursting with texture and color.
Nobody dies from lack of sex. It’s lack of love we die from. There’s nobody here I can love, all the people I love are dead or elsewhere. Who knows where they are or what their names are now? They might as well be nowhere, as I am for them. I too am a missing person.
From time to time I can see their faces, against the dark, flickering like the images of saints, in old foreign cathedrals, in the light of draft candles; candles you would light to pray by, kneeling, your forehead against the wooden railing, hoping for an answer. I can conjure them but they are mirages only, they don’t last.