Wake up to the air kissing new wounds
Trying to catch myself in headlights
Barreling death just a step to either side
Hoping I’ve lost myself between
Some layer of some dream.
Wait for eyes to open that were never shut.
Stop.
Everything is just another excuse. Again.
We’re Content with a gun in a madman’s hand.
A slug squeezing through every thing.
Leaving a trail for all to loose their step in,
We all lose something some time.
Each day is a game of roulette
We’re throwing our bets in with patience
as they follow their guts through
the hole they bore through our temples
Lobotomized by shock or grating anxiety.
The hope that cooler heads might prevail
when there’s money to make, still things to conceal.
They’re standing in a hall of mirrors of doppelgänger second selves nodding back to every twitch and whim.
Shatter everything.
We must rattle it to foundations.
Hang the suits of the yes men
A marker of an era dead and gone.
Hang the suits of the yes men
As lesson of an era dead and gone.
Supplementing sasscore insanity with bolstered vocals and pop-punk songcraft, the California band are kicking ass and breaking boundaries. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 21, 2024