Butterflies in the mud (Remix)
songwriter, piano, add some dark wave dark synth, darkjazz contrabass, 2 bit jazz, spandex vocal powers, some eerie haunted lingering vibes, vaporwave, glitches and more glitches, beautiful very clean timpani on 44 hertz beat, mastered very clean, 2 bit blues, some tape delays ,some karma machine chopper sinusoidal shifts, add some crazed shifted vocals on the lemma of the words, some time dilution, enthrall some distillation, some eerie vibes in the mix,female vocals, haunting vocal style, machinefabriek, moebius, vaporwave, glitch, then switch to english british pop, insert stuttering rhythm, ejaculation into hypnosis, then switch to french chanson with avant-garde influences, end staccato with vibrafoon and a telephone call and a type writer clicks
Butterflies in the mud (Remix)
songwriter, piano, add some dark wave dark synth, darkjazz contrabass, 2 bit jazz, spandex vocal powers, some eerie haunted lingering vibes, vaporwave, glitches and more glitches, beautiful very clean timpani on 44 hertz beat, mastered very clean, 2 bit blues, some tape delays ,some karma machine chopper sinusoidal shifts, add some crazed shifted vocals on the lemma of the words, some time dilution, enthrall some distillation, some eerie vibes in the mix,female vocals, haunting vocal style, machinefabriek, moebius, vaporwave, glitch, then switch to english british pop, insert stuttering rhythm, ejaculation into hypnosis, then switch to french chanson with avant-garde influences, end staccato with vibrafoon and a telephone call and a type writer clicks
Lyrics
With a refusing throat
throat throat
It must seem
all these words
In a non sensical
Framed in an empty Skeleton
But I always have the taste
of butterflies in my throat,
if it is any other taste,
then it is the taste of bla bla bla but in the mud even
And if my voice ever becomes hoarse,
it is due to harsh words,
that rush like a train through a tunnel
and leave me
with a larynx of broken glass.
Then I am left with only the mirror
of the dream world, which I enter
with knees of brittle paper.
For my voice must taste to you
like strips of dead skin.
But perhaps it is not all lost
and you will turn the mirror around, to see how I fall out.