1. |
||||
|
i ain't got a people
i just got my peoples
found them in the playground
found them under steeples
and us lot look like rainbows
and us lot look like streetlights
and we're the boys on corners
and we're the boys in jail
and our mums worried nightly
and our mums hugged us tightly
and my dad watched a place in the country
for more than entertainment
and most of us are nameless
and most of us are bright
and most of us got left behind by teachers with shortsight
but i aint one of the lost
i just witness their suffering
feeling like a tourist in the yards that i grew up in
cos freedom is a madness
and familys a madness
and my boys on a madness
and i still scream not guilty
survivors feeling guilty
the dead can't tell them fix up
spinning in their graves when they see us lot holding back
i gotta be atomic
i gotta prove I'm free
cos i aint got a people but my peoples they got me
|
||||
2. |
||||
|
Morning
Nigerian woman is a faith fuelled peacock
marching down the road in her Sunday best
and every footstep
is a breathless
caress
bringing sole to concrete and swing to thigh.
With pamphlet in hand she is
a female proselytizing army, that
grinds down the coy
like a mouthful of bone and marrow.
Pigeons devour scraps of discarded Morleys.
feet glide across tile look floors.
4.00pm
Henry orders two pieces of chicken.
Samuel M and Jake? A number 7.
2 spare ribs, 3 hot wings, soggy fries
and a Fanta Fruit Twist. But for Abiola
it’s a quarter pounder
a quarter of a pound of off-cuts and gristle,
lettuce and cheese,
gherkins and ketchup
they eat
and one by one they travel home.
A walk down a narrow walkway,
and every now and then he throws
his chin to the sky and catches a glimpse
of their Twin Towers, lit like a postcard
from a Sci-Fi movie, his chest rises
believing
that it’s either one or the other,
righteousness or money.
I heard the architect committed suicide
when it became a sink estate,
but he doesn't feel it sinking.
Pettles down and leaves brown up. It’s
9pm
London is all lit up like a peep show for commuters
with a fetish for empty offices.
Most days I love my job,
But on a day like this
it feels like the apocalypse hit
The only things left are the bankers.
I finally make it out,
Tea splits,
Brown water falls back
and sour milk rises to the surface
of my polystyrene cup.
We vapour like a current down an oil slick -
lights glow lemon yellow against the dark
we paint the sky blue
and new tongues break in the morning
At home I eat and stare into
the TV’s day-glo haze,
my body ghosts till morning,
and pupils slip behind
closed eyelids.
|
||||
3. |
||||
|
Thinking bout it I think I need some changes/
Man's mind popping think I am going deranged, it's/
Insane in the membrane fantasies and clothesline panties/
Everybody wanna see me on my fantasy/
Pantastic fallacy, I don't rep Palace but my mind is a Palace, see/
Couple doors to be opened,
Couple beds to be copped,
Couple friends to come cotch.
They all want to see you hurt, but I've been planning this, I prepared a bed just like the first we slept on, hopefully that'll help you, I've been playing far too much Fortnite, I swear the bonfire in her garden healed us, or was that the smoking, or the laughter, or the amber keeping our eyes awake, allowing muscles to slump into soft tummies and the tinny sound of that broken Bluetooth speaker.
How can time can be a teacher, how the spitting wood was a preacher, how friends are like lessons learnt, they'll deal out irresponsibly until we pass.
The warmth will always be familiar,
You'll never behave sillier.
Speak words with rhythm or sit on the curb imagining what it's like to hold hands again./
Keep yourself held to the word of trust and hot coffees until you got bandages./
Speak words with rhythm or sit on the curb imagining what it's like to hold hands again./
Keep yourself held to the word of trust and hot coffees until you got bandages./
Thinkin' bout all the dreams we be having/
Thinkin' bout all the times and the panic/
We got all the flippin' time on the planet/
And you wanna spend the whole time planning/
Come on sir now you gotta see that's tragic/
Head full like the ocean full of plastic/
Dumb fool now you can't be fantastic/
And you wanna spend the whole time crashing.
Speak words with rhythm or sit on the curb imagining what it's like to hold hands again./
Keep yourself held to the word of trust and hot coffees until you got bandages./
|
||||
4. |
||||
|
Nooks and crannies need to be cleared,
mother taught me
never be envious of others houses
they only wish to break down yours,
men wish to break it down.
I’m the lucky one,
I know that much
but I can feel the paint peeling
from the bathroom walls.
I don’t know what I’ll do
when it finally falls.
Nooks and crannies need to be cleared,
Mama told me to never give away
my spare keys
that it is sacred between God and I,
but she makes a pair for any
wealthy man arranging a visit.
Mama refuses to buy sanitary towels
in the household shopping
She asks what will you do
if your brothers see them,
if they see that your house is dirty?
She says Hishod naya,
Have shame, girl.
Nooks and crannies need to be cleared,
I once turned off all the lights
I swear I felt my soul leave the house,
I said Good for you girl!
You deserve to be happy.
Nooks and crannies must be cleared.
When a man comes to view your house
it must be clean.
Don’t just sweep
the dirt under the carpet.
Trim
that rug.
Make sure all your corridors
are clear of impurities
Make sure your living room is presentable,
it is the bosom of your home.
Stay in the kitchen or the bedroom,
mama tells me,
so he can watch you in your
natural habitat.
Mama taught me I must
speak my mind, though
every man is allowed to test
out my home before he buys it.
So if he wants to inspect,
let him beg to witness all your rooms
and if he breaks down your walls,
give in, maybe.
Mama taught me to be wary
of handing him all my glory at once.
He must also do some polishing of edges.
Nooks and crannies must be cleared.
Perhaps, by a
man.
|
||||
5. |
Cecilia Knapp - Sunshine
04:08
|
|||
6. |
Raheela Suleman - Boy
01:57
|
|||
|
boy cops rubicon cuz he never reached the homeland
boy hangs on corners like moon crescents
boy never landed
boy leaves ego at the door and
boy walks past it on his way out
boy reaches home at 6am and found out life couldve been ok if
boy stayed at home so
boy walks walls alone
boy sings sad songs while
boy thaws in his thoughts
boy shouts droptop when the clouds make drop offs
boy goes by she
boy makes sure you pronounce their names right
boy sits in the sun like nirvanas without shade
boy loses count of the passing days
boy doesnt people please
boy would rather rest on his knees
boy handles storms like jupiter
boy forgot to say bismillah
boy bandages his eyes to be a better listener
boy got beats by dad
boy never got beats by dre
boy bends it like jai paul
boy says hes yet to see it all
boy tries not to think about some things
boy sips on gwana ban tanamo
boy grew a tree of masala mangoes
boy lines the moon crescent
boy tries to stay in the present
boy never knew but knew what he didnt know
boy became transparent
boy became the boy who was literally transparent
pretty powerpuff boy
these dreams and invertebrates can only be in love
boy
why else would they meet in the middle of my nights?
boy never existed because
boy didnt want to exist
boy this boy that.
boy doesnt keep any mirrors in the house because boy finds glass hard enough to look through.
boy knows he's soft on both sides with his mood like moon tides,
gravity's the only thing holding me back
boy.
|
||||
7. |
||||
|
a sunrise as in waking up/as in a half peeled orange/as in a candle through rose spectacles/as in an unrehearsed smile/as in occupied lips behind drawn curtains/as in OXO pier/as in a new day or another day or just day/as in the first offering of day/as in the leftover beauty from night/as in a rising sun/as in holy/as in salvation
forbidden as in fruit/as in probably wasn’t an apple/as in a grapefruit/as in Born Sinner/as in a Tyndale bible/as in an unwanted truth/as in a tongue too anxious to uncurl/as in an incognito browser/as in a love/as in many types of love/as in what is love?/as in them just not you/ as in a mother’s look/as in THE look/as in a dam in the heart/as in not allowed
from as in distance/as in a home left/as in somewhere to go back to/as in a shed skin/as in ackee taste heavenly fresh/as in canned ackee is dead/as in red dirt/as in a postcode/as in what your eyes know/as in what an eye remembers/as in the end of a love note/as in xoxo/as in a line started in the sky
breaking as in heart/as in the sharpness of bone/as in bread/as in a blink when clouds passover/as in a misplaced word/as in worn nail polish/as in fraying rope/as in a tub of ice cream/as in no “have you eaten today?”/as in dying elephants/as in a stomach at war with food/as in potential/as in the hope for stronger/as in a fully peeled orange/as in opening curtains/as in night must bleed out before day begins/as in a body rejecting weight/as in the throats capacity for hollering/as in your next smile/as in what these hands are best at.
|
||||
8. |
||||
|
So what could I say?
when you said putting your hands together to pray
resembles, so much, putting them together to hold a burner,
the same desperate movement.
We were talking on the stairs of my old block
like how black crows perch on railings
if you’ve got to believe in anything
believe in results, in things happening now.
Thats the problem with prayer, you’ve got to wait
in line, I’m telling you the wages of waiting is death,
word to my worn knuckles, my dead cousins.
Maybe prayer isn’t working cos you’re not holy.
Bro of course I’m not holy, ever since I saw
a bullet turn a man into a holey mess
I found new meaning in a holy ghost
don't talk to me about holiness and prayer.
Okay answer this, what sort of prayer do you pray
knowing the devil is eavesdropping?
What sort prayer do you pray when your area
is a bootcamp for hell?
God says get down on your knees to pray,
when you do the devil thinks you’ve come down
to his level to fellowship with him.
My father’s voice sounds like a saxophone
gunshots sounds like piano notes
I am the base that holds it all together
this is the symphony of hope.
Of my pagans wanting my blood
vampires in hoodies and ski masks
I ask them if they’ll take the blood of Jesus instead
they run me down with a blade.
I slipped, they caught me.
God says get down on your knees to pray
I don't know if I am still alive
because of God’s grace
or because the devil looks out for his own.
|
||||
9. |
||||
|
over ground Tuesday 9.30 the man sat across from me looks plush
his leather bag carries class or the italian name brands does
over ground Wednesday 9.30 a woman’s watch got the diamond crust
talks loudly on the phone the woman next to her applies shimmer dust
walking the train is a man in a hoodie ripped jeans
tells story nobodies listening eyes forward won’t give a inch
headphones like a harbour wall
waves of shame are dispersed in sound blocks
a mist remains
that won’t effect your day
sit wait and the storm will slouch off
not a habit your proud of firm it till your overground stop
every pound pops loud in your pocket as he prowls off
hushed inner judge brings gavel down once
he was drunk! clearly fucked off alcohol
when you’re great your brain’s still a place you want to get out
so keep those pounds pop em out on the town
but
mans got a face like me
same age same hair same hate like me
for the cats in this space like me
cus he asked for change nicely and they stared into space icy
but he aint got a place like me
so he’s not like me
dirty hands I can’t see his skin drool rolling off his bottom lip
his eyes are bright trainers used to be fly and he speaks just like my kids
it’s too rough seems like to end up where he’s at
you don’t have to do too much
but to get any change no way got to levitate plates to move us
heads on the train all douche bags
humans bruck so they nuisance
online space like charity shop board face to face make excuses
like they can’t condone looseness
love to help but doubt truthness
like this man isn’t fitting my definition of destitute-ness
yougotmoneyIcanfucking smellit noseturnedupman’sasking pennies youdroppedthreepoundonyoursoyMachiatto hisstateandyoursareboth systemic
andyourboththesameoncewe’ve armageddoned
andyouwontbeblamedbecausethe karmagothim
andtheoldrefrainisthatyoucantbe propping
eachbrokenfacethatcomesasksfor dollars
mans got a face like me
same age same hair same hate like me
for the cats in this space like me
cus he asked for change nicely and they stared into space icy
but he aint got a place like me
so he’s not like me
you aint like him
you never had hard stage got off of your face like him
never needed a change like him
you never needed help like him
never had bad health like him
never looked around just saw wealth like him
never scraped bottom of the well like him
no?
|
||||
10. |
Laurie Ogden - Hunger
03:08
|
|||
|
Hunger
I want to tell her that her lipstick is red.
I want to tell her that her lipstick is red
and that her lipstick is looking at me.
I want to tell her that I believe her lips are that red
underneath the lipstick the lipstick
and when she breathes out
it almost sits on my collarbone.
She talks about a house she used to share
with her girlfriend.
I want to tell her that her lipstick is red
and that I am glad she had at one point
at least
a girlfriend.
She talks about the creative process
and I imagine her covered in paint
and nothing else
just animal, animal red
and I don’t want to touch her
just to watch her dance in acrylic
painting her heartbeat onto the outside of her body.
Her friend asks her a question and she puts wine to her lips.
I think of red, and red,
and she puts the wineglass down too fast
and I want to ask her how she holds
her girlfriend but she is talking
about a husband,
who she holds, I imagine,
and children,
and I hear what she meant by girlfriend,
and I fight the urge to demand
that she gives me her lipstick
so I can eat it
all-in-one-go
say that was why I was looking
cheeks red now
red red
say
that was all I was hungry for
|
||||
11. |
Zia Ahmed - Donatello
04:25
|
|||
|
acid + alkaline
empathy + apathy
you alright mate?
i’m happy me
mental health season
sponsored by maccy d’s
in the name of the most high
i take the first bite
of this filet o fish
with its acid resistant slice of cheese
orange like the overground
'carry water bottle incase of acid attack'
my brown friends text me
whatever happened to acid rain?
get me to a massive rave
some acid house to douse the panic out
my brother's selling psychedelics
+ i'm trying to be a good muslim
mind turning like ferris wheels
take your time
let it heal
but picking at scabs is so satisfying
+ it's got me arts council funding
shit
so used to dark words
that when i speak joy
it sounds like i've inhaled helium
the laughing gas isn't working
a purge outside the gherkin
cash machine temporarily out of service
is this an acid trip or a magic trick
or love
this is a litmus test
red or blue
false or true
or whatever helps you sleep at night
or whatever neutralises the acid in your belly
the belly of the beast
the beast in the beauty
the beauty in not beautiful
epiphanies in toilet cubicles
put the ph in funeral
|
||||
12. |
||||
|
When I was pulled
Out my mum
They said I
Looked like a tongue
Perfect and soft
Like pink parts
On a cat’s paw
Rumour has it
On that day
I was so
Sweet and cute
My parents carried
Me home in a giant
Ice cream scoop
Mum was a golden goose
Dad, a pig that flew
You know how it is
Coulda been a cash cow
By now but
You know how I is
Ask why
Ask how
You grow and you shrink
Spend (enough) time
In the dark
You start to
Notice some things
Had a starfish
when I was 6
He was shit.
Wouldn't do any tricks.
Then I bought a crab
put him in the same tank
After that I learned things
you cut off will grow back
Tell jokes that
are too dark,
Put the hue
in humour.
Be friends
with ghosts or
they might reveal
who you are
I know that birds
used to be T-Rexes
so I bet they
must get vex
when they look
at where
their nest is
I'm not a man
I'm not a guy
My hands move
like drunken butterflies
1 o'clock
at
night,
I saw a
car mount
a pavement
and remix a
lamppost
the pavement
was grateful
cos it still had
some light though.
Going through your
shit is therapeutic
You can see what
wasn't digested,
Then recompute it
If you can't recompute you must reboot
If you can't reboot you need better ventilation
(I hate endings)
|
||||
13. |
||||
|
unconditional love beauty unwavering kindness understanding perspective forever
a few years a few months tomorrow the right words at the right time orgasms pleasure pleasantness that i am pleasant that i am lovable that i am worthy
that i am a pause for thought that i am not a stranger that i am not an actor
that i am not a master of illusion a contortionist a magician
that i am not excellent at making things disappear
that we won't look back in five years struggle to recall surnames smiles
shared secrets that we won't be an echo of deja vu in the next fuck buddy's nervous laughter that it won't all feel so meaningless and fleeting that i won't run from you like a crime scene that you won't become a blood stain i want to bleach with my own spit
unconditional love beauty unwavering kindness understanding perspective forever my god
i could fill a forest's worth of notebooks with all the things i cannot promise you
but know this right now i am seasick with joy and right now a promise can only stretch so far
as the length of my fingers walking the path of your dormant spine as you sleep
this moment has a pulse and things can only die
if they were alive in the first place
|
||||
14. |
Tania Nwachukwu - Mantra
02:51
|
|||
|
bad gyal
buff ting
nice smile
softly
laughs loud
kind heart
mean face
cocky
bredrin
sistren
young ting
chargie
dem man think they know me, they don’t really know me.
change in my pocket
counted it, spent it
Snicker in my pocket
didn’t last, melted
sadness that I carry
ain’t really dealt with
dem man think they know me, they don’t really know me.
i’m glowing from somewhere.
my waist beads have started to roll upwards,
under my breast like a second bra strap,
breasts which usually rest comfortably in your mouth,
like my name, like the letter O
lower your jaw
you say i feel more full moon than crescent
and you fill your mouth with new words
baby and belly and time.
Dad tells me to pound the okra, sometimes he says okro
sometimes mum says trafficate instead of indicate and i get confused
sometimes i linger on irregardless or regardless
lap or laps
plantain or plantin - depending
sometimes i can’t find the right word
the sentence dissipating in to awkward laughter
language gives me anxiety, so does boiling rice
Dad is still waiting on the okra
i cut chunks in to the mortar, pound it with pestle
it is mahogany, it is sculpted
it looks like something the British would
find and keep
behind glass
from us.
i run my finger along the bottom
feel for ancient engraving
if not language i will pass on taste.
both the need the tongue
but I know when a soup needs more salt
a sentence in my mouth will reach the tip
and I still couldn’t tell you what’s missing
|
||||
15. |
||||
|
define: constellation
limbs of a bird
the feet of god
I think the first sound I heard was my mother’s heartbeat
it must have been wing-like.
We are listening to Rahat & Mother
says there is barish, rain in this music
the notes speak of water you can’t find in Britain
that you need to cross waves of heat
It sings of the relief of the rain
Feeling of the air opening you say to me
even though we are here,
we can still walk through it
I imagine the rain like I would your heartbeat a home
in scripture it says paradise lies at the feet of your mother
throughout the years
I have broken the road
mended & broken.
Watched it lose its meaning
became the centre of something
sinking. Red the type that lives
on your feet after years of walking.
Red of a snipped wing.
I’m sorry about picking the shells off that jewellery box
your friend made you I thought I could hear the sea,
I wanted to wake it up. Isn’t that the nature of a wave.
Back then I didn’t know the power
of a box is like Pandora
a ribcage of hope.
The canary in the mine
still sings
of a rain in another land
mother tell me
about the time
I was a season a handprint
of a monsoon
& how we are not lost.
|
||||
16. |
||||
|
i said nusrat
sound better in the fiat
5 double with door smashed
southside bruddah
say thats where the orb crashed
big smoke bubba
in the flesh looking all that
they say my name
but no idea from whence i came
they know we / they just aren’t the same
but cant tell which why the way look my bad my mistake
O to the G
no pea ( will ) still i shine like come to / the light
no breath still breathe the line
no fifth uk cant plead the rhyme
but still dun thread
soul sacrifice but couldnt take whats in my head
they want me to live it twice
i say rudeboy im still dead
mmh
few good enough to take this job
say they bad but they scared to flop
no g in they title not O please
dont excite the boss
ah
i can tell the those youts was lost
when they ask if the t was dot
and the i was crossed
say life on the crimes a job
but i declined just took mine off
uh
dont need no bright to shine off
or search to find off
turn your sight off
these brudahs all talk the dark
but look rar when i turned the light off
seen
O done time so dont try to relax the climb
or collapse the rhyme
but all of ur talkings fine
cah lehman cant touch design
big and bugging
dont say nothing
unless O say something
PTS like GCS
big test
cant easy nothing
Marks and X
say O is next
but god dont ensure nothing
so meanwhile south is bubbling
whilst im here believe life is doubling X2
PART 2.
big and i boast,
dig in the dark,
but bigger than dirt,
stig of the dump,
serious one,
never the hurt,
on to the mish,
serious ish,
put in the work,
fill up the plate,
cut up the cake,
cos in been in desert,
living to tell,
dying to fail,
loving the girl,
X ( not for paper ) X
loving my voice,
showing the pearl,
foes they slip and they slide,
watching me glide,
watching the galaxy swirl,
rhythm and ride,
boy pick a side,
my life be honestly hell
|
||||
17. |
||||
|
When I’m an off-stage marionette en-route to a venue, head-nodding in a suitcase, hair forgotten and front and centre, peripheral vision and window dressing, long as uncle’s stories (and as in need of a trim)
When someone switched my path to happiness for a treadmill facing a canvas.
When there’s a change in and ocean and an old man on a rocking chair by the beach says to himself “rains ’a comin'”
When my head is more cluttered than the Claremont X-men run and I can’t tell what universe I’ve stepped into, but it’s not the one I grew up in.
All that’s on my side is the fact I’m still in it.
A friend of mine jumped off a building, he asked me “what’s your secret?” The only answer I had to give him was “making promises”
When I can lower the bar for feeling loved to receiving a smile from a Barista
and feeling strong to knowing I can handle myself against a man so bored
he’s driven to violence with broken pint glass
(so broken his boredom’s driven him to a pint)
(so bored by violence his pint drives him)
(so driven to his pint violence breaks boredom)
When the strings are cut and I’m limp behind the curtain, scared
I won’t get up before the show starts,
staring at his face in a crumpled t-shirt on my chair
and his frame standing in the shadows of my room
and all that stops me from searching is the sky turning pale.
These past last six months have as much light and colour as the Bendis Daredevil run and I’m sending a letter of compaint to this city’s Editor in Chief in regards to all these characters I’ve spent years in love with, subjected to such cheap plot twists.
When there’s a pinball rattling up top,
twitchy fingers waiting for the drop.
When I can’t get back across the eight foot gate
separating a park full of dog shit and playcentre
When summer was ball games
and photosynthesis and growing up had all the
drama and emotion of the 90’s X-Men cartoons where every revelation brought screams, tears and rage.
When I call Desirae and tell her that boy I love might not make it through the night and the loudest thought in my head is “don’t cry”.
When the knife was only meant to make a statement
and the drink was only meant to loosen him up
and the weed was only meant to calm him down.
When the boy turns from man to snake to boy again.
When a woman isn’t a person but a property
and free will feels like a robbery.
When the lactic acid build up shifts from the joints in my knees after a midnight run to sentences with his name and mental health buzzwords, like funerals end but eulogy’s don’t.
(How come I’m told to talk to someone
after everytime I’ve talk to someone?)
When I was given back all the comic books I gave him
and he and didn’t touch the ones about depression
cos who’d look at pictures of brick walls while in prison.
When I did make a difference, it’s just, the scales were different.
When it’s a long-arse grind for a long-arse time and I patch myself up with a simple-arse rhyme.
When it’s not iambic pentamiter, and it doesn’t iambit pentmatterer
When the past year’s been a disappointing album that followed up the most increidble mixtape.
When Pitchfork gives the album I cried listening to a five point eight
When I look between London’s sharpest teeth, devouring all the space I could’ve found a sunset in is filled with boys on pegasus peds, caught in the sensation of flight, of speed.
Like falling, but upwards.
Like fuck ups, with benefits.
Free from gravity and every
other element that held them down its spuds all round
I’m superman now.
|
||||
18. |
||||
|
In the car, shreds of 8am light pool in the half-moons under her eyes.
She tells me she’s been searching all her life - her spine now a heavy
root, from years of reaching and stretching and slipping to keep
ends meeting. She is an olive tree in a perpetual storm,
refusing to be displaced.
Sometimes she shifts. Just a little.
Anger pours hot coals in the pit of her stomach, splits her tongue
into a bitter whip until black smoke blows through her mouth.
In her village, she tells me, she watched many close to her fall. She tells me,
when she was young, there were murmurs of dreamers hearing an oasis
calling, whispering honey as they slept and schemed
They let the sweetness drip in deep waves. She says,
she wants to experience just once, if
it is as warm as those dreamers vowed.
For my mother, I am trying to learn what freedom looks like
in this body of mine. What it tastes like in this mouth or
feels like running through the thick of my hair and the small
of my hands. I am trying to grasp freedom with my teeth,
the tips of my toes. Trying to catch it on my eyelash,
for her.
She does not know freedom.
Has never known freedom
but I’ve seen it
looking good, sauntering elsewhere.
I want it.
The choice to go
where I choose when I am ready.
Ain’t we worthy?
|
||||
19. |
||||
|
tell the sharks: don’t follow this ship. I’m captain now. here are the new rules. look at me. where we’re going, there are no roads to remove, no souths to sink into. no names to take as meaning you, yes, you there, tall. nobody will ever be thrown over or under or off of anything. no, not even if they are dead. yes, everybody belongs to someone. each of you will live to be buried and you will be old. nobody shall lose the word for home. should you gain a new one, the choice to use it will be yours. and did I say, already, that it’ll be warm there, how there is always more than enough.
even the soil grows sweetness. we sleep eight hours a night. we make love when we feel like it. when the children are big, we keep them. we gut laugh, and we talk loud.
we work easy, easy.
and when we’re tired, we stop.
|
||||
Bump Kin London, UK
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