Lyrics to tracks from the album 'As a hovering insect mass breaks your fall':

Landfall:

The birdskin waistcoats of old, you know they have no place here

Now that it's time to discuss your position with the tall and the tainted

This is the causeway of doubt: heart of all exceptions

The guards step back from the door, bleeding rust on their cobbled squares

You see the first ever mirrors were used to view our birdskin waistcoats

By these reflections the guards were confused - they pace the cobbles of the causeway mumbling:

"We are your walls for as long as you wish us, though yes for you these words are worse than useless

Because we never found you in time for time to matter"

Crumbling spires :

A midair refuelling went wrong:

something attached to the wrong prong

Then something else crashed and burned

And all of this from a black box they learned

Three future hangmen reminisce about the days before with cordless nooses and remote controls they took the joy from the job and a profession's heart, distancing the hand of justice unduly from its object

Re-employment schemes were just a net that they fell through

From the sewers of cities, re-emerging as scavengers

Drawn to dormant accounts and abandoned self-storage, like solitary carrion birds who've lost their calling

Do arcade machines who reach retirement age await a desert mass-grave or endless luxury cruises?

And if a penny falls falls in the desert who is there to hear her clangs on the sides of a skip filled with remote controls and as big as the world?...

...I could still never find the button I wanted - the button to you...

All of our lost callings

Silent masonry falling

The silent mason's work is never done - without a tongue there's no refusing crumbling spires, and what's required is never-ending

Wingbeat fission:

A trance, a buzzing: freefall bent

A swathe, a carving: liftshaft vent

A pinhole form, a mass relents

A wave to crush - a give is spent

A moment's link blunts the intent

A humming slab, a blocked event

Deflected path, not guardian sent

As your reprieve was never meant

As a hovering insect mass breaks your fall

Work the moorings loose: to the heart of it all

When the cogs have seized their migrations stall

And escape is near - chance comes at your call

You chanced upon a formula in the darkness of their wingbeats

A mission: you're the last man standing

In the darkness they surround you

It's like a fall of attrition

And though it never was your mission you chanced upon a formula and hold the key to wingbeat fission

The alchemy of membranes tensing distils your brittle frame

Amid a levitating regiment pulsing you lose yourself again

Your life was but a trick of the light:

In the foyer dust they warned you well

What blocks you support another: there are wings around the well

The dagger (from the 'Wingbeat fission' single)

You will never occupy the space behind her recognised life trace

And much as you might try replacing her is where you will always falter

And whenever you dial expensive numbers your boss takes you aside and says:

"In the freeze frame, on the slide film, from the watercolour chart...

I could not tell if you were pushing in the dagger or if you were pulling it out"

We were commuter novels always just begun - to be replaced each day or the page reread

The once eternally new reached a dead stop with you, and at the vanishing point there's nowhere to go

And whenever your runes are in the wrong order the chief druid taps your shoulder and says...

"In the freeze frame, on the slide film, from the watercolour chart...

I could not tell if you were pushing in the dagger or if you were pulling it out

There was nothing in your expression, neither malice nor compassion nor professional disinterest"

Decimal places falling down

When will they stop the fighting in the forest?

If you get out of our shed then we'll get out of your head