The Wicked Wiz of Oz: The Rusical

Head Bitch

BRAT

Are you ready to feel VIVALICIOUS? Just press play.

Subculture Set Ve'ondre Mitchell

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Auditions

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Twister

Oz! (Finale)

40-20-44

Water

Rain is without wet the fern plume ; White the sea gravel fierce the waves' spume ; There is no lamp like reason man's life to illume.

Pigeons on the co-op sign, fog on the hill
Past the schoolyard fence, it’s quiet but it’s still
I’ve carried the weight of these bricks in my chest
Learned to laugh with a limp and still call it my best

The bus stop graffiti knew more than we did
First kiss in the alley, first punch as a kid
But the roads here remember, they echo your name
And I’ve never loved softer than I loved in the rain

From Risca with love — and a battered old soul
A heart full of cwtsh and a half-paid goal
I give you my postcode, my mud and my truth
My valleys-worn vowels, my last bit of youth

From Risca with love — and the girl down the lane
Who taught me that laughter can balance the pain
I don’t need a palace or stars up above
I need boots on this road — from Risca, with love

Mam at the window with tea on the boil
My nan’s old records still scented with soil
Pete’s at the pub, his knees in a brace
Home is a feeling, not a place.

We scraped joy out of pennies, out of cold chip bags
Wrote poems in chalk and stitched hearts to rags
The park swings still creak with some kind of grace
And I still hear you laugh when I pass that place

I don’t need a map or a star up above
I’ve got you, and this town — from Risca, with love

Said, “You carry this place like a song in your sleeve”
I said, “It taught me to stay when most others leave”
You smiled like the hills that bend with the sky
And said, “Even your silence feels like goodbye.”

From Risca with love — where the bins talk back
Where hearts break slow on the railway track
I’ve got grit in my grin, and a hell of a shove
But I swear on my past — this is how I love

From Risca with love — and the nights that held me
When nothing but fog and bad telly could tell me
That one day I’d mean it, with no stars above:
You were always my home —
From Risca, with love

Rain and still rain, dank these tresses of mine ! The feeble complain of the cliff's steep incline ; Wan is the main ; sharp the breath of the brine.

Rain falls in a sheet ; the Ocean is drenched ; By the whistling sleet the reed-tops are wrenched ; Feat after feat ; but Genius lies quenche

From Risca with love

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