Lavender Sorry from Oxygen Coach by Lullibus

The quiet burden of an unseen apology settles in with this track. The bassline barely breathes beneath a lull, almost a hospital cradle sway, but there’s an unease. An upstroke guitar line that can't quite find rest, setting a tension that just sits there, like something unsaid. The air carries a phantom scent of ethanol and lavender, a memory of late-shift sacrifice. Sounds like scraped metal and the faint clink of things being put away for the night, from rusted tram rails to the gentle tap of saline bags, punctuate the space. The opening lines, "Lavender medicine climbs the aisle / Early-shift ghosts murmur denial," immediately place you in that liminal space between shifts, where exhaustion blurs reality. The true intimacy emerges when vocals shift, capturing actual chest vibrations through taped stethoscopes, delivering a raw, quiet monologue. The core lyric "Still I mouth sorry through cracked sheet" distills the track's essence: the constant, quiet regret that comes with prioritizing work over personal connection. A tired gospel organ swells mid-track, hinting at a larger grace beyond the exhaustion, before receding. There's a fleeting, almost desperate promise in "Promise we'll quit when pulses wed," a whisper of escape that feels just out of reach. Later, the plea "Hold this breath wide like open pay / Clock us to mercy, not to pay" reframes care as something owed, not merely compensated, a quiet demand for dignity. Live, this track holds an audience transfixed. The shared quiet of the breath takes on a palpable weight, the collective exhale after the whispered monologue becomes a communal moment of relief. It's less a performance, more an unfolding of shared vulnerability, leaving a room hushed and deeply connected, ribs humming.

Our bass cradles. Voices soothe. Lovers rock & dub that feels like a warm blanket when you need it most.