Perhaps it's because I've spent my entire life running away from her complete body of work. But I really had no idea she was this striking. So here is my open love letter to Enya:
Dear Enya,
Even though when I hear your music I suddenly feel like I am trapped for eternity inside a flaming elevator of terror filled with itchy wool sweaters as it plummets at a speed of Mach 2 down a shaft of razorblades and acid two-thousand floors through the Earth's crust, past the mantle, before splashing down in a boiling cauldron of Satan's urine the day after the Super Bowl....would you like to have dinner sometime?
Owner Of A Lonely Heart,
Jonesy
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