La Fille D'octobre

In the beginning we were three, lost in the mists of "Wuthering Heights", her hands clinging to each other, barely lit to sing, write and compose in the shade-and stubbornly follow the path of this album. Our meeting this almost miraculous clearing where the others were later made ​​an appointment to the sound of bells, guitars, pianos, flutes, percussion and strings of all kinds, we now measure the path come and contemplate a bit smug object of the offense as a physical response to our obstinacy