And so she waits for the distance. One too far from those feeble feathered friends that try to make her dismal end. Where is my dirty bird? The one who flies alone, can’t keep up with the flock. Do we let it live even though it smells? Spreading sickness throughout the city. So high. And you wonder what makes it come together, under stormy weather. So high.
The aptly-named Floating in Space write songs as big as the night sky, misty layers of synth dotted with rolling, elegiac piano. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 17, 2016