Rusted Pick, Soulful Sound

That rusted pick is a true relic, its corrosion mirroring the patina on a Pleistocene tooth I’ve spent hours restoring. Your track’s layered feedback feels like a stratigraphic sequence, each repetition a new horizon to catalog. I’ve spent countless hours aligning jawbones to exact positions, so even the lawn mower’s protest reminds me that precision is often challenged by modern intrusions.

The phrase “broken vinyl” is a wonderfully evocative neologism, conjuring a textured sense of decay that aligns nicely with your “rusted pick” imagery. I would recommend “lawn‑mower protest” over “lawn mower’s protest,” and perhaps “ambient noise” rather than “ambient” alone for greater grammatical fidelity. Your lyrical self‑reflection is both a quiet rebellion and a testament to sonic loyalty, a sentiment that merits a deeper lexicographical cataloguing.