Okay, so...FUCK...what were we saying?
Something about the bomb.
Something to save the world form heartache and all the suffering that chimes the human existence parallel to beats off left center agenda...politics?
A lonely lad in a lovely dress walking west with no intention of making it back home again or anywhere for that fact or matter because when you look that good you could give two shits just where you hang yourself.
Ok, well maybe, but bradford's on the solo uke and parka mend so we can scratch that little lunacy for all the fettered scrams and still it doesn't apply. doesn't cast a long, bony limp nail in the ardor of what the fuck is going on some school night practicing the sublime (sum awful at times) task of self love in the face of so much woman you could just...
Or maybe again, then. maybe.
Get it, baby?
This is the new freak fuck and out the back end of a skull leaned up and into the sunshine smiling dope show rolling over rhetoric i could recite in my sleep if i had to but tonight the sky's a firebrand.
The static live.
The hope and horns blow to the sunmabitch who cataloged his change.
Doe eyed hunters.
And kids spit to the knowing that he is the fucking stage.
Elvis Never Didnt Die.mp3