Needs re-recording. Vocals are a little weak in places.
Also about the soppiest thing I've written, in terms of the music. But there we go.
ID1

Letter to PThe clumsy line of your jawLetter to P
is where my affection gathered. It blew across in tentative skips
to hide amongst the angles of your limbs.
That satisfied surprise, the smile drawn out through relief, that shed its glib grace across your face
it baited at the growing lump I spirited across the threshold at just past 10,
come to entertain you at the bar.
A double act just for ourselves,
we closed that Friday night like most; with a dance round innuendo,
toe bruised and left footed.
Im sorry, really, if I stopped up conversati
Fuji
Der Kunstler

The Curvature Of OhThe Curvature Of Oh
Tod’s a mute, it doesn’t matter why. It doesn’t matter why, but Tod’s a mute. He sometimes wants the world to spin so fast that he’s on the other side and he’s singing, he’s singing so loud that the crows in the rooftops stop their noise because there isn’t any point because no-one’s listening, because they’re all listening to Tod. God stops to hear Tod sing. But Tod can’t sing, not at the rate this world spins. He can’t sing.
Tod starts to paint. Starts in his room at the sound of the door, but the sound’s only so loud because it never comes from his mouth the way we sometimes surprise ourselves with words we never
| Photo credit goes to my Brother - [link] |
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Mock guilt and welcome hell.
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Mock guilt and welcome hell.
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