On this record all we do is to concentrate on everything that has no end. Our agony, our search and quest after perfection, the truth, our aspiration and striving for death and love, the eternal darkness in which nothing of this is even touchable. We don´t try to explore new paths, we tell storys about the paths that lay behind us. Some of the future ways are already well-known. The world can be infintely beautiful but also be shitty as hell. We really don´t tell new storys but these circumstances that happen to everybody including you and me. We volute us in self-pity because we know exactly that others are in the same situation and hope to bring catharsis and salvation to some of you. We accuse our selves before anyone else can, because we´re just egocetric to show yourself to you. Selfloved and selfhated. Fresh lyrics from the loony bin, letters written in the shadows. We´ve got our unique moth-sound but we do not define over it, we just use it as a means to an end. If you understand our letters they can heal you in and strange, eerie kind. It became dark. It is our soul. We relish it.