The New Hitmakers: How Social Media Is Rewriting The Rules Of Music Discovery
Chris Page - 05 Jun 2026
Golden Smog To Call My Own
blowing through my losing streak bought the farm on a dead end street nothing ever grows under your sun filling voids with emptiness and driving past your old adress loneliness two has turned into one they welcome you with open arms tell you they don't mean no harm do they mean anything at all feeling crowded by my company you can't hate but parts of me I know there's a new myth on your floor staying up in 409 the day are yours the nights are mine burned out everything except the door it's like breaking out of broken homes they tell you they don't eat their own searching for one thing to call my own to call my own there's a goldmine in the local scene get nine lives you need thirteen paid the price landed on all four you used to mean the world to me scared to death of what that means so we don't mean anything at all I welcome you with broken arms you know I don't mean no harm do I mean anything at all and they all come from broken homes they tell you they don't eat their own searching for a thing to call my own
