How long must we wait for the nebulous cluster that is Lana Del Rey's 8th studio album?
How long must we sit here with our fingers perched over our keyboards, mindlessly spewing words of both frustration and delusion that only drags us down further into the rabbit hole of false hope?
How long must we wait for the promising ding of an Instagram notification, telling us that Miss Elizabeth Grant has posted information that could potentially quench our ravenous thirst; a thirst that keeps us trapped in a Lanaboards-esque purgatory to which we can never break free from it's hard iron shackles? These shackles to which we have rusted with our blood and tears.
How long must we wait to see the album cover that will makes it's home in our iTunes libraries?
How long must we wait until we can have a discussion that doesn't pertain to scat, racial issues and the ongoing beratement of a four-eyed producer who shall not be named?
How long must we debate vinyl colours? Cobalt blue, shocking magenta, crystalline white, brooding sangria, healing marbled rose quartz - all of which we know are possibilities, but can never come to fruition due to Lana's fairly recent disinterest in aesthetics.
How long must we wait until we fill this thread with hyperactive ramblings of excitement instead of dreary monotonous drivel?
How long must we wait until we hear songs that are newborn and crisp? To hear melodies that have never touched nor tickled the wisps of hair inside our ears?
How long, I ask. How long?