Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful.

For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.

There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;

And God will grow no talons at his heels,

Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.


I'm probably an 80 year old man. I swear a lot. Screw objective meaning and read about dead people. Please don't touch me.


A few more pictures of Government House.

posted 1 year ago @ 19 Aug 2012
with 1 note