Dim light guides the eye
To the ravishing lip and cheek
The pallid love of pale blush
Spit blood like curses
Breath with broken bellows
Sigh like drowning cellos
The wasting cause of expiring beauty
Clinging fully to a flower of evening
That will die in the morning
The enviable ill
The vain consumptive
And haunted visage
Pale and drawn with thin lines and soft brushes
Laying low in the boughs of a cypress
Lying low in the arms of nightfall
And rising at the moon’s call
Just to be called down to the dirt by the dawn
And on to the rack of a tortured lung
But rouge will come to features softened
And keep us young till we rest in our coffins
Down in the depths of comely perfection
In a dress of decay
Take a dance with the dying
A dalliance with a spectral reflection
A trist that ends with a funeral procession
Laid low to the knees
The enviable disease
A staggering beauty not long to live
The hunger, the yearning, the bed sheets all burning
In the wake of the vain consumptive
Vocals: haunted, and subversive. Guitars: splintered shrieks. Drum machine: grim, unrelenting nausea. Visceral noise, with a hook that gets stuck in in your throat. Just try spitting them out. Stranger Killings
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Grab the pre-order to receive a limited-edition, satirical zine authored by Ray, who bares all in her Northern Spy debut. Bandcamp New & Notable May 14, 2015
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