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An Essay on Brutalist Architecture

from Broken by TOLSTOI

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lyrics

Before our eyes
A river, a river
Of Concrete

There's something dead in this place

There's something dead in this place
Upon our heads is a weight
A sense of power breaking down our souls

All the streets look the same
Repetition as a means to divide
On the pavement a shame
We're all slowly dying inside

This place is breaking us
This place is killing us

Our skin is grey and cold
We're becoming monsters
Perfectly we all fit the mold
Obey the urban planner

We are the monsters.

credits

from Broken, released October 6, 2015

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TOLSTOI Nancy, France

Three angry men trapped in a business office on a hot sunday afternoon without air conditioning. This is what Tolstoi sounds like : a train wreck, a beautiful disaster. The kind that makes you want to shake your head.

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