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Drenched in the blood of the Old Testament, dragged through the fire of the Sacre du Printemps, and locked up in the drunk tank with the winos and perverts.
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| It's Florida, and the heat is like a velvet cape soaked in a water heater and wrapped around your head. This guy took forever to die. |
CD: Moving In This House
Label: No label.
Credits: Chris Black |
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| In a tiny, cramped town on the edge of nowhere, as night falls, we find a half-dozen old women gathered out under the moon. Tongues flash and acid spurts. They laugh, they groan, they cackle and grovel at each new bit of dirt, and every little lie tingles up and down their spines, like a series of orgasms in a gossip's gang-bang. |
CD: Moving In This House (Live Demo)
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| A hearse rolls by, followed by what seems like a thousand stretch limos and every damned mobster in the U.S. of A, and all of them in mourning. A patrolman working traffic turns to his partner and says, "Who's the stiff?" His partner shrugs, and the procession rolls on. |
CD: Moving In This House
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