“This song was written with an acoustic guitar looking out my folks kitchen window, the melancholic beauty of living in a Celtic region in winter. Later that day I sat down with my Ableton push and edited the song into a beat.”
The Sergeant was back at home now. After a gruesome death mystery, he’d been trying to solve the case of all cases. The darkness of all of the circumstantial evidence, dawned at the edges of sanity, as the madness of the possibilities, lingered, even as he tried to drown out the violence with his whiskey.
His apartment, not lit, helped him to linger in a sliver of quiet, as the droning sounds of the falling rain, dowsed the worries away, as they hit his clear panes of his window frames. The neon lights of the red-light district, never ceased to amaze him, as the wrangle of the police department (and all of the death that infest the world), his dark and lonely apartment, confides solace for his fiber of being.
“Odd how that works,” he’d always think to himself. “Odd, indeed.”
As the panning vision of ‘Lumin’ plays in the after-glow, the exhausted, slip into sleep. Tomorrow, it starts all over again. “Bring it on.”