Battle Cry

Dear God,
The patient's best intentions have sadly faltered.
Despite his newly installed, varnished brain, and being force-fed gallons of viscous demented liquor, he is determined to obtain the new drone spiders' trophy.
He dreams of becoming the scorpion who never sweats.
Quite frankly i'm sickened to have this individual infiltrate my headspace.
He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second.
As the clock spits, clicks, time speeds by in the form of a neon snake.
Massive delusions?
Very probably.
I fear for my safety.
He is as weak as his fellow man.
I am now surrounded by hypocrites, liars, drunks, clowns, fools, sycophants and the desperate.
I insist we barter with the moon to sell the patients cohesive lyrical maps in exchange for a vision of the future.
Stricken with grief, I have no choice but to turn to lethal toxins.
Hardcore Punk Paste.
Allstars takin' over...

LoFi geek :p

hehehehehe

whats this all in aid of then? heavy album by the way!

eh? best album ever by the way!

EVER!!!

over the hill with the sowrds of a thousend men......

Woo Hooo Woo Hooo - we will give them beats on the beachs we will give them breaks in the sky but we will never give them our rejects...