The golden light that Pet Lions arouse in this session must be what you'd find in them if you were to draw blood. If you were to take a knife or a needle and start pulling it out of them, it would fill the vile with a liquid that would look like melted moon butter. It must be everywhere inside them, coaxing out these melodies and these fertile gardens of hummable passions. They are fond of the way that it feels to slip a shirt off and just dive into the water. They're fond of a dark room, with a single candle burning in the middle of it. They're fond of a night walk in which nothing needs to be said, when the hands holding onto one another are expressive enough.