Housofpsychoticwomn

Thirteen minutes of noise with a devotion buried alive inside it. A voice repeats that it loves you until the words stop behaving like language and start behaving like weather, tenderness worn down into threat by sheer repetition.

The title nods to the study of women the movies call mad, and the track works the same seam: love as testimony no one believes, spoken into a room that only answers with static.