My tears turned into fireballs and melted my cheap-ass sneakers. Even my wack baseball cap, is made from blood of the earth. Weave a line, a distorted melody, make it cut ears like coke. It's not badass, it's not happy, it's my soul crying. And one of the 4 beasts sang: behold! A sick DJ on a rave lit horse! A plastic society and death's horse has a cutie mark. It makes him amazing. give it a lick. it tastes just like mayhem. with a stroke of it's mane, it's goes into your brain and kills you like a natcho. ew that's dirty but not insightful. perhaps it makes him self conscious. To sheep's eyes, nothing has any meaning passed it's label. My instrument is awkward, to big to fit in most spaces, so it sticks it's self in places, that make most people feel uncomfortable. If I could change my avatar, I might just get popular.
released 06 July 2014
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