On the cover of “Lights Out,” there is nowhere left to hide. In Euphoria-ready glitter-tear makeup, Siena Bella lies down among masks scattered across the floor, her face both plaintive and resigned. The white suit she wears, pure enough to grace the movie poster of 1974’s The Great Gatsby, blends in with the floor, as if it were dissolving into snow. It feels funerary almost, and so too is the song itself, sinewed with self-destructive impulses (“The voice telling me to swerve is too tempting”) and an expiry date (“Now I’m waiting until it all caves in”). The buried depths of her mind are exhumed, the guitar arpeggios distorted and strewn with dirt, looping until the chorus arrives in its a capella, yet vocoder-rich desolation. “When do I drown?”, Bella asks herself, the phrase falling slowly, then altogether, like a body sliding off a gabled roof. Where else is there to turn these days but inward, each glance of introspection tinged with morbidity?