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AS THEY SIFT

from To The Surface by Static Intervals

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a wasteland of cold so bitter it snuffs out the flame. we could say we're ready. we'd stave off this fate. with all that we'd build we could somehow escape this place. these devices mean nothing to the stars. the buildings that pierce the sky have become a death knell. this monument of suffering dissolving in the vastness of our terrible wake. what will it speak to those whose misfortune it is to come after as they sift through the ruins of this world of excess?

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from To The Surface, released October 2, 2020

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