Svensk Christmas i Glasgow

Lusseverkstad med söta små nissar

Inte så lussiga lussebullar... vad hände egentligen med all saffran?!

Pojkarna i Mario-Kart turnering

The taste of iron

In the sullen and damp,
Urban, muddy and grey
there is no more than death
of a shimmery tale


With a shivering hand
remove layers of pale
And the parting with life
When this girl is for sale

Where the bridges have burnt
Leaving jacks in her skin
And there's not much to lose
But there's nothing to win

There's a sign in the night
She has already left
And , taking her life
Is no longer a theft

So she parts on a train
Weary, quivering, cold
But yet - she wakes sweaty,
And nauseous with pain

And the blood from her nose
It has dried on her lip
With that bitter, grim taste
Eager hands on her hip

She remains where she is
No more trips to afford
She's a doll to the world
To be used,
when man
is bored.

- Litage