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lyrics
In the house, I wake
up after nine, and my
hands hurt, there was a light
through the big crack, outside
it was a spring time light,
and no blue sky.
The clouds like a kesterul, the sky like a fag packet
in a big packet he brought back from Spain,
or someplace, I don’t know exactly where he said
he told me he went for his holiday.
The curtains drawn, now
a kid shoots past on a bike,
he has a face that
says it slept a sleep;
drawing on the walls in the
cheap black pens, they break,
and biro is a trade, Mark.
I didn’t know this until now,
a man called Lasslo, he was
Hungarian according to my
dictionary, there is a sound
in the kitchen, I thought he’d be at
work by – spitting in the sink and then
in the shower I close the eyes a long time, get
warmed up by the water and think:
No it was Malta he said
No it was Malta he said
No it was Malta he said
No it was Malta he
I’m eating too much, not drinking, but still
bingeing on the biscuits and the pan aux raisins.
Everytime I say pan aux raisin, I mumble it,
cos i’m afraid this is the sound of me saying:
Pan aux raisin wrong x7
that’s not a real song,
it doesn’t mean anything, the Long and Winding Road was on
in the waiting room, I was there to have my wisdom tooth
pulled. Paul McCartney following me about.
How would like it if I did that to you, Paulie.
This album by Kenyan electronic producer rPH and poet Kins of Spade reflects on the impact of religion in their lives and society. Bandcamp New & Notable May 12, 2023