Postpub....... a few pints, and some bad sectors of the wine-bottles in front of us had my name on them. Big Ouch.
Internal jukebox, all the way home from Soho to Stockwell, from Radiohead...
While you make pretty speeches,
I'm being cut to shreds.
You feed me to the lions,
a delicate balance
When this just feels like spinning plates.
I'm living in cloud cuckoo land.
And this just feels like spinning plates
Our bodies floating down the muddy river. Etc.
It may not read that well on screen. But in my current drunken state, it means everything.