Always unglued

Fever boys talking end of the world again.

Crash boom. clicks and whistles. the same sum swagger that left dead men sitting for hours in rust and ashes high as the red eye rover looking for intelligent signs cut in plastic welcome stones.

Weeks, even. years.

And i'd say we don't care and that may be true in the in/out, all told but on certain streets. on certain, sweaty unkept days. we do.

So, sometimes, we quake against the sky. sometimes we hide and wait to dine on cold steel moonlight. counting itchy triggers and impotent ends in the hopes that someone, somewhere, someday will make some sense of the fucking thing.

Until then, we bide in fury.

Hot Heart.mp3