To the last of your species, your kind, your kin, your feathered folk of brothers. You sink your song with ink to skin to scribe the pain of others. She cares nought, tis worth the pain, aquiver and ecstatic. For one as her, curse'd lost, who'll wrest a thrill at any cost, she notes the tone hieratic.
Edition: 25 (sold out) AP's Available, enquire below. Size: 48 x 61cm • Image: 40.5 x 54cm
