Originally by The Birds Are Spies, They Report To The Trees
lyrics
To give a slow sorrowful reading
A few brass coins
Clutched in my bony fists
Gathered together in one room for the first time
Born three years ahead of time
Nineteen seventy-nine
Throwing shadows at passing cars
Fitting initiation
Attacked your books with a knife
Convincing me you have nothing to say
The smell of your own work is the smell of death
Toronto band Respire deliver a post-hardcore tour de force on the largest scale possible, orchestrally rich and incessantly uncompromising. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 6, 2021