111487-carbine-studios

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Dear Carbine Studios,The environmental audio you've displayed here inside our house, is pure genius. Not only is our house a work of art, but it's a living, breathing temple of our—twisted dreams, that-of-which comes directly from your twisted-insanity and into ours, do you see what-I-see?ComeLet's embraceFor our final danceInto time—space. 
When I walk into our living room, the air is filled with pleasant sounds of a bubbling cauldron and a clock-work grill, that-of-which—somehow; however interestingly, resembles a lamp that looks like it came out of some dood's high school workshop class, while out on one too many vacations in Florida after breaking up with his girlfriend.
 
It appears he was trying to figure out how to make his shop class's lamp light come on; looks like he became so desperate he attached a blow-torch to it, looks like it worked.As I crawl deeper into our little lair, we come to an office; it's more of an interrogation room, but let's not get into that discussion, a chain dangles earnestly from the ceiling.
 
The office has metallic sounds of vibrations of bravado; a masculine undertone. A female stands into the distance; behind the command center. The manikin, well, is really just a manikin, but don't tell Cheddar that, he's convinced she's a living-breathing-woman.
 
As I backtrack through our house and into our room, I hear a hollow silence, and then almost like a pitter-patter; sounds echoing through the pipes from the other rooms. I can almost certainly say, it's almost like I can hear someone else living inside our house from our room. I think they live inside the walls, but I can't prove it.
 
There are many such moments like these I'll continue to cherish, all the while playing this little game of yours, thanks for all the little details, I’ll fill in the blanks with dark fantasies and scary tales.
 
Sincerely,Triostar 	
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