Aunty is / in my hair
And i don’t want to cut her
She dangles perpetually upon this forehead
So i dawdle around with a eucalypt fringe
And when i scratch / Scalp falls
Like the fingers of time through our bodies
Does she burn on approach
Or dry up like the embers?
I lose her each hour until - in the end
How can it matter
What date it is?
Or which minute we lost her?
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
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