Artist description Our heads keeps filtering the rhyming scheme. A word placed after another. A succession of downward impotence. A swirl of desire wasted upon a tripped on easy. Ice in the glass, booze on the ice, and pills on the booze. A flowing stream of unconscious thought pounding away at a skull as fragile as infancy, and then aging it to full grown worthless stardom. See it up there in the sky. One wish. Two wishes. Three wishes. And then another the same as the first only worded differently. But its fragrance seems just right at the time because its what we smell every morning when we rise. Every second our heart is beating were breathing it in; the mystique of the arteest, the vision of the dream. It continuously constructs a clouding fog on the importance of a muse. It has forged its signature on so many early accomplishments and can now only taunt the world with its strain. Its only forgiving quality is that of love for a moment. Everything in its first light seems that it will stand to its true test of greatness. Oh pedestal of parallels, let me bow down to thee. Everything that keeps running in congruence retires on crossroads and then gets tied down to train tracks hoping that a small piece of its crushed torso might be dragged on to better days. A fragile spirit of brilliance attached to a monument of built up heroes; the ones that have spoken the words for us, and the same ones we admire like we do the moon, or the concept of travel, or the passion of song. Spread though out time experiencing the same lives and crushed by the same rough waters the entire human race found a way to hold consistent. They just beat us all to the cave carvings. But how can we not love them for the paths they spanned which can now lead us all into our own great hells if followed; into our sacred subconscious of sullen, and out of our far gone fears of being first in our failures. Thev ve created an aptitude test for holding the position of king sadness, the one who must command man to work harder at building a catalogue of mass produced tear shaped melodies that drive hard at unsuspecting future lackies. They will be the ones who will graciously spread the word of our god, horror. Its a constant pour feeding the famished. Those who cant reword it to say the same thing backward and sideways can still find comfort in its cold bed of regrets. Whoa is me, whoa is me, whoa is me. Buried naturally as deep within as their chronic headache in their pillow as they fool themselves into sleeping easy. The trickery of ignored correspondence with the only vein pumping truth into that pounding muscle in their chest. The void that reaches for clairvoyance but only finds consistency in the sparseness of red amongst all the black. They keep trying to bend forever to mold to a shape that suits them. There is only the every idea stamped on soul identification to prove to our neighbor we are all brothers in the army of the weak. We must all march on to the beat of a shared drum. Whoa is me, whoa is me whoa is me.

Music Style dark

Musical Influences life death booze sex rock n roll

Similar Artists everything acts as a reverse vacuum , cycling sincerity with unknown influence

Artist History selected by the mighty hand. burned within. distributed through conscience

Group Members frank - sticks mike - shredder bruce -vox

Instruments bass, guitar, drums, vox... and looking to expand

Location fairlawn, new jersey - USA

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