Instrumentation: just me and my loop station and my cat and a, um, generous glass of wine, salvaging an imploding birthday at the eleventh hour.
Birthday Song
These are the words in my heart
They started before I knew how to start
They spoke out the spokes of my wheels
Cut into my blistered heels
Their purpose is to teach
And again and again they try
Sometimes I am a wall
Sometimes I am a microphone
They convince by force
These words are fists
These words are mallets
I am the delicate wrist
I am the breaking bone
I dance always alone
I dance always alone
Speak to me
Speak to my heart
Show me how to start
Speak to my heart