If you’re going to play Macbeth

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When you are talking about the land, you are talking about the land.
The birds in Scotland don’t whistle, or hum, they howl.
Even the one’s you’re use to sound different: Seagulls, Pigeons.
When the waves crash upon the sea you feel that wet wind in your bones.
If you are riding your bike on Dean Bridge, and look to your left, you see Castle, skies, and (depending on the day) a bold grey: where both possibility and emptiness await you on every corner.
When you see the castle you see your whole life.
When you’ve been loved and supported;
When you’ve been bitterly betrayed;
Where you’ve hung your head to rise and to rot.

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