In the pre-dawn hush of the Midwest, our gothic musician awakens, their eyes reflecting the dim glow of the rising sun. Surrounded by their vinyl collection and band posters, they pick up their guitar, fingers dancing over the fretboard as they strum a haunting melody. The room fills with a raw, emotive skramz sound, echoing the catharsis of their emotions. The music is a personal soliloquy, a whispered confession to the empty room, resonating with the melancholic beauty of their surroundings.