End of Summer
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General) North American (US Western)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
soon autumn will be here with its dusty driving breeze across the back of your house, where Poppy's would previously dance with you. Now spit in your face. Gultom will hold your hand when you run to the station every morning, jagged with purpose like it was famous for 15 seconds. Soon autumn, we'll be here on the road again with leaves dangling in the middle of your God like radio gramme of an old film. Summer will be dangling slightly just out of touch, almost like a party. You hadn't been invited, too, before the cold weather comes leaving leave, leaving you wandering had it gone before it really started. In hindsight, it wasn't just a soft, cold perfume of the breeze. It wasn't just the change in weather or the fact that swallows have gone east instead of south. Autumn hadn't built itself up as it normally did, but fell unexpected from the skies, choking summer until that fizzled away, burst through without reason like a hurricane instead of a more intimate moment. On the other side of a conversation, Blue have the candles, like the Fourth of July on a dream ticket to nowhere. Coastlines and arcades turned grey shutters on gates dangle in the wind like clapping hands. Leaves carry themselves across the road, but they are Mourners looking for a few until the nights and days sink into one, making it appear that nothing else will rise above the tip of the horizon. Nothing, nothing but the coldness of the air, which makes the case of young lovers in the distance seem like unnecessarily sacrifice. After summer, Ultimate always brushed under the copy like 1/2 baked afterthought before the winter arrives. With this blanket of snow rolled blues at the beginning of autumn, there was a hesitation in the grease before the clouds darken the sky and poisonous slowly with mustard gas. There was a sadness in the heart cut son, flickering before the clouds carried the sun away like a funeral director as an ornament of mystery, dying with a silent screen before setting their compass, his north never to be seen again.