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A thousand brittle limbs hung to the wind,
Their whistles turned to singing,
Can you hear it sink?
A thousand skinny rings bound her in,
To something so thin,
It's withering.

The summer slips to bruised images where soil had gone,
Motionless she'd sit in swing for months or more.

A thousand dancing ships took to the wind
And each one fell to the mist,
And were claimed by him.



from Epilogues / HAUNTS Split, released December 18, 2013



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Epilogues York, UK

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