deer eyed we step out of the failing light and heel by heel we take the hallway in our stride and shed our clothes like torn out paper lantern boats and slink into the dark steadfast the floorboards take our weight and moan so we press back against a balustrade of bones til there is no breath left in the turning night to ask our names and sigh breath left in the turning night to ask our names our skin is razing breathless in the turning night to ask our names on the railing breathless in the turning night to ask our names our skin is braille and what it says is nothing but a sigh
['british post-rock', 'cinematic post-rock']