Rain Hills by kuhl

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Rain Hills Leggings

Rain Hills Leggings
Rain Hills Leggings
Rain Hills Leggings
Rain Hills Leggings
Rain Hills Leggings
Rain Hills Leggings
Rain Hills Leggings

Rain Hills Leggings

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Nobody will judge you for wearing them all day, every day - they’re that comfy. That’s because these tights are constructed with breathable, antimicrobial polyester spandex that keeps you dry while staying cool.

  • Constructed with antimicrobial polyester spandex
  • Breathable, moisture-wicking qualities
  • Six panel cut and sew construction
  • Adjustable waistline
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About this artwork

Pembrokeshire, Wales, Coast, Weather, Rain, Dylan Thomas, Cas Greenfield, Music, Lyrics,

This digital work is taken from a series of images based around a new collection of words and music developed for Cas Greenfield’s 'Kust' project - reflecting on the majesty, power and ultimate tragedy of Dylan Thomas.

Eighteen Shots - words and music by David Ireland & John Donne

Eighteen shots ring out across the estuary dawn The white horse runs unbridled ‘cross the sands The devil fills the night with his moonshine breath And your precious time runs quickly through the fingers of his hands Now you’re barefoot in the park Hiding in the shadows and the doorways Now you’re helpless in the dark Lost between the devil and the highway

Take me home to the straggling river Where the curlews call and the reed beds shiver As bitter cold as a New York whore Abandon me To my destiny On that heron-priested shore

Send me some token, that my hope may live,
Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;
Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,
That in my passions I may hope the best.
Send me nor this, send me nor that, to ever increase my store,
But swear thou think'st 'I love thee,' and no more.

Take me home to the straggling river Where the curlews call and the reed beds shiver As bitter cold as a New York whore Abandon me To my destiny On that heron-priested shore

Eighteen shots ring out across the estuary dawn The white horse runs unbridled ‘cross the sands The devil deals the deck with a hand of death To the funeral march of a Chapel band Now you’re barefoot in the park Hiding in the shadows and the doorways Now you’re helpless in the dark

www.casimirgreenfield.com

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