Friday's We're In Love

Baby where’s a feast for the smile?

Hard, near impossible, to write so joyously about being so tired, and if you did not speak the language you would never know that these songs all feel so close to weary hearts.

An empty bit of good.

Let the machine work and drain and sputter and purge, may we dance and clap at what meagre pleasures it can conjure.

Make it easy, only just for a little while

I used to be on Google street view.

All my lies are always wishes

I needed a pen. I’ve also been deep in a tiger pit of depression lately, and it seemed like a good idea to pit these two things against each other. Draw a cure from the blood of necessity.