it was in the last hour of our departure that i named you, the pines stood bare and brittle, as we are torn from hearth and tinder. Like the jutting sills of a windowless house, like our sunken frames shaped to caravels. To know the salt that lingers beneath the tide, to know the harsh devastation the new day brings to quiet things. To know that you will love the three legged foul that rests just beyond our chasm, and that i will bury its bones when the day has met its crux.
Polish noise-crust outfit eschews the big Tragedy-esque riffs still popular with their US counterparts for scratchy claustrophobia. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 2, 2016