Tranced out in between lyrics she says something that sounds like "to be loved" or "to be most beloved" mumbling about the season, the aeon, the darkness and desire passing. Like a scratched cd jumps around in the track, the groove of conversation is lost. A jumble of mixed up words and thoughts, burning down the cigarette is the only aide - each drag breaking up what she says so that each phrase makes sense. "He said there's no such thing as sin," repositioning herself to see and speak to you, uncoiled, the stutter of metal and glass when she turns her head "that's it's all apostelic, mysogynist bullshit." As she leans, there's a sound, like sticky tape pulling apart from the skin.