Ritual by Fflwcs

"What hand would crush the silken-wingèd fly,
The youngest of inconstant April's minions,
Because it cannot climb the purest sky,
Where the swan sings, amid the sun's dominions?
Not thine. Thou knowest 'tis its doom to die,
When Day shall hide within her twilight pinions
The lucent eyes, and the eternal smile,
Serene as thine, which lent it life awhile."

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Fflwcs rhymes with the word "books". It means "rubbishy sweets" in Welsh.

Queer Cardiff music-maker. Lo-fi electro, vaporwave and assorted ambient fuckery.

@Fflwcs on Spotify, iTunes, TikTok, YouTube and Amazon.

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