Travel words

There's that whimper bang again. the hungon havoc of another year basked in the shadow of bridges too old, too long, too fast for chumps to sell the sycophantic trash the way of the righteous anymore.

Still they do and will and suck it up chilidogs because if we're not going to loose those troubles this mortal coil's going to be one hell of another three hundred sixty odd nights wishing there were still fucking superheroes out there in the drug soaked leather jackets smashing cans instead of bass lines.

But i missed that ride.

Chances are you did too.

Chances are there's an irony clause stitching a lifetime full of lies and cheap intellectual pissing contests telling you black lips smell like real city pussy but they don't, kid.

They don't.

And i don't give a fuck what the proposed irreverence. who backs their systematic asses from the garage to the glossies. those kids have as much to say about the bright side of dying as a pale german fistfuck in the wet summer of our discontent.

So get pissed.

You're being had. left and right and red assed up in the air for the limp-eyed post 9/11 set.

And you will be again if you don't set your shit straight and start your own hopeless fight someday.

NYC 1999!.mp3