Album Notes

Mirrors, Doorways, Windows and Doors. These are the things for which we enter, look out of, wait in front. . . for something. A question perhaps. You stand before a door in a hallway. It's a crisis. Not sure whether to knock or enter.

Or even if you want to at all. You keep searching for the answers. But they elude you. You find your convictions are turning into a mere shadow of thought now. And you are fading away; blank at the middle. Nothing but footsteps. . .

Someone opens the door and senses a presence there. The footsteps before him. A note in the mailbox waiting to be read. You recede into the hallway forgetting everything you were.

These are mere fragments. The imprints of echoes I once had. Murmurings from a caged-in singing soul.