Now that my ladder's goneI must lie down where all ladders startIn the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

TOIL and grow rich, what's that but to lie with a foul witch and after, drained dry, to be brought to the chamber where lies one long sought with despair.

Who stole your wits awayAnd where are they gone?

Out of Ireland have we come, great hatred, little room, maimed us at the start. I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic heart.

I'm attracted to the rag & bone aesthetic - classic and effortless with an edge.

I really like Rag & Bone because they make simple pieces that last.