Vampire establishments

Here comes the crash and the kids are fucking digging it. i think. i can't tell. my thighs are bruised and my liver is worn but there's nothing in the tired face of god's green that can keep me from staring. from clicking. from wishing these high altitude fuckers could be my friends just because there's enough in one lick of their mayhem to make me believe that there's a movement there still left to bring home good even if it's garbled, screamed and desperate behind pockmarks and adages that would be pissant if it weren't for the lights flashing comely. begging us all to die along with the beat. the sound. the siren screams that herald anarchy.

But man-sized. boyish. baby fat and all the failures punk rock postured away in leather jackets and bullet chains.

The new sound, i suppose, that might make it if only there were enough motherfuckers willing to seek its solace come the sunrise twist and subterfuge.

Should be the biggest fucking thing. should change the world. should shape things, damaged and artless, into the monumental fix we'd dream on years from now just because one day we paid a beer and happened to witness the sweating fibers shaping it.

Or it was the right thing and we were lucky enough to know just long.

Whiskey Is Alright in Its Place But Its Place Is in Hell.mp3