French Curcus ©

The story — in my words

I wrote this one during a particularly brutal winter when I felt like everything I’d built was crumbling under its own weight. I had this image of a traveling French circus, once vibrant and colorful, now just rotting wood and frozen canvas sinking into the mud. I wanted to capture that terrifying, desperate kind of loyalty—the person who refuses to leave even when the master has already given up and the horses are dead in their tracks. We tracked this with a heavy, sagging rhythm to mimic those rusted iron wheels. It’s a song for anyone who has ever knelt in the ruins of a relationship or a dream, begging for the morning star to just stay hidden a little longer so the end doesn't have to be real.