The kids' voices die away in the distance and misgive an fancy of some amiable of passing opinion, which can not quite be remembered. The loopy description of this trail emphasizes this notion and the passable changing of the piano samples convey the presentiment of the ineptitude to push this impercipient and wretched circle. At best a dystopian masquerade or a image of a upper classes, which is caught between concern and sorrows? It's the listeners voice… Trust and intention try to peek out dissimilar times, but they can't stanch the dejection. Level the chief sounds of "Mesencephalon" transfers the listener into a dwell, jammed of deepest melancholia.