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It’s the blue of a dead channel, a void that hums with phantom transmissions. Layers peel like rust—glimpses of dissonant choirs, wires whispering secrets, pressure building in the skull. Nothing resolves. Nothing ascends. It’s sound as erosion, wearing down edges until all that’s left is the hum of absence. Even the silence feels borrowed, temporary, like a held breath before the drowning begins.

Music - Соннов

Field recordings, cover - Dark Echo Forest

all music Ivan Sonnov

1. hipolink.me

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