“Plasticine sofas once padded and smooth grow limbs like The Thing and turn ugly. From comfort to crutch to constraint, it’s a frightening and fearless transition…”
The songbook, the wordbook, the lyrics.
‘It’s Rats to the Ratrace. It’s Rats on the Run…’ I Guess even rats can get tied up in twists. Hard not to see it as some kind of fail, back to scratching around on the decks going down, kicking hard to keep calm in the water. We’re back in UK with the same burn to go, to be living someplace somehow else.
What went wrong? Almost nothing. Three months in the US driving East coast to West then a month in Saigon, Vietnam…