half_asleep_songs raze sometimes i croak whatever matted melodies stick to me into an small stereo microphone with stray hairs embedded in its foam windscreen, and listen to what i've made when the cobwebs clear. most of the time it's a mess of inarticulate moaning. once in a great while, the seed of something interesting survives, and i think of how and where it might take root. (and they say songs don't grow on trees.) 240628 what's it to you? who go blather from