The bending branches on the fir mean the devil can’t keep his hands off. There will be a dove at the eye, let language bless you blind. Heaven’s tomb is draped in threes by a passive hand. The language games comatose lay hands for me. They lip the wind, the world I’ll intend. I’d lie just above the vowels, a heavenly body, I may grow fond of this soil. A breathing pulse for this cold body. The same name can mean two different things. A single breath spinning and spinning. The same words can mean two different things.
Richmond, Virginia's Shy, Low temper metal's crushing dynamics with post rock's atmospheric beauty on their Pelagic debut. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 13, 2021