for chinese ring daggers, dusty old books and echoing screams of death. for mistakes, and stumbling on the tight rope, but never losing sight of faith. for team almost human, not-werewolf.

"Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again. How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget that they are horses.
It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio, how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces." - Richard Siken

18 tracks