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as a child, I wandered the streets of Sicily, following the wisps of ghostly voices through the cobblestone alleys of my grandfather's old home. the books' 2003 album, the lemon of pink, hit home as I experienced something spookily similar to my stay on the Italian island. the music sounds like a collection of memories from someplace foreign, containing a collage of voices laced with enough emotion to break language barriers. notable tracks: "tokyo", "there is no there", "take time"
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