Stagione 5
Archaeologist's dream
Stagione 4
Some vague joy
My quiff was wilting
Once, I was better
Raucous heft and absolute tranquillity
Unpicking with scant precision
Rise to the equation
We dug onions
Whip the world inside out
I wonder, I do, about where I left my roots, and what one is supposed to do with such things.
The colour of distant mountains at dusk
What can I do but follow
You've seen better days, she finally says,...
I hear a train rumbling. It must be morning.
The sound of rain.
I don’t know if you will remember where I am.
We were growing up, greedy for happiness, shedding skin and skinning knees, becoming immune to some things and irritated by others. It will never be like this again.
Clearly, we were onto something.
Spanish guitar I found lying in the gutter, all bashed and beaten up, bleeding from the nose.