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On the Edge Of
Low

Soft from your lips to the rise of your stomach

Your lungs filled with fingers keep jamming words down my throat

Nothing to steal we've got nothing to love

Nothing to spill because oh we're so innocent oh

Oh on the edge of

Oh on the edge of

I could have built you a house on the ocean

The ocean repeating and receding into the sun

So cut to you dead and now cut to the laughing

Cut through our bodies and lastly into our oh

Oh on the edge ofOh

Oh on the edge of

Da un cupo preludio in acido, procede poi una nerissima perla di angoscia, smorzata in un tourbillon di polifonie vocali - che rimandano ai bei tempi andati della West Coast - e di arpeggi sfumati ("On The Edge Of"). [recensione da Onda Rock]