A few strange poem-songs written and performed by Lynnix:

Taking a story about her father to poetic justice Swinging On His Death Spiral, where you then land in a brew so bohemian it could only be an Alien Fondue, to the chirps of birds in distant chorus of the Oranges on the branches, and descending beneath a leaf or behind a rock or in a cave of blankets The Fall lands in the reality of Winter, a rather opulent self-serenade on the shores of Currents, to ascend back up into the ethers of the cosmos when In Time I’ll

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