It was a cock-tease of a song that had me searching around for anything I could find of this unknown character that did the hook. Questions like who, what, where, why now...Brymo? I didn't get a lot of satisfactory answers but I knew that I wanted to hear more of that voice. A lot more.

It whizzes violently in my hand, supercharged and rearing to go. Funny word rearing, always sounds just a touch on this side of lewd.

What if hope were an inanimate object? A blanket, a door, a spoon, maybe a boomerang that occasionally gets lost but always returns to sender. How often would you want it, use it, keep it, loose it?