Lyrics adapted from the poem by the same name by Arthur Rimbaud.

Yet another unexpected offering from deep within the undercity of my iPod. I have no idea how these songs get in here but I definitely like it when they come out.

I’ve recently been lamenting the shortage of albums I enjoy as a whole. New ones, that is. Perhaps I’ve just become more discerning (let’s call it picky) over the years, but it’s an exceedingly rare full-length release that I want to listen to in its entirety. (I am reminded of some piece of internettery involving Sufjan Stevens calling into question the validity of the album format given the changes to the way that music is distributed, purchased, and consumed, but alas, cannot find a link.) Veir’s album is lovely and folky and by turns happy, tragic, haunting, or peppy. Something about this tenth track made it pop out – maybe the mental image of swooning crows; their feathered bellies stuffed to bursting with viscera, emitting rough little sighs and falling back onto tiny fainting couches.

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