Nostalgia sending tremors racing down your spine
But we need the bass to feel it through the marrow
Nothing can replace live, cancelling live amounts to slaughter
The master slavers are back with the whips and the masks of fear
They say it’s for your own good, wait till the nanny grows a black mustache
Sitting on your bedside signing lullabies, putting you to sleep with a baton…
Photo Hugh Ardoin The Notting Hill 2018 Carnival Gallery