To the little girl with the plaits in her hair,
With her passport in hand and a jump in her step, you are about to see snow for the first time. Well, actually I mean sleet – that frustrating kind of precipitate stuck somewhere between ice and water – and a squeal of delight will erupt from your lips. It will be magical. You will press your face against cold glass as you are driven to your new home, the first of many. You will see romantic terraced houses, delicately frosted window panes and charming old men reading the daily paper. You are in the land of Lords and Ladies, heirs and heiresses, Kings and Queens. The Motherland. You have arrived.
Read article here: To The Little Girl With The Plaits In Her Hair | Black Ballad