Kooooool
Is the goat fed for the profit of milk As the dust rolls into heaven with the storms of cyanid piss wasted hipsters? Fermented in the the hop drenched romance novels of their not so "neat" grandparents Lending the bar tabs and thrift store receptions That we seek The smile that makes us weak inside The diner downtown after the people in the scene gallery have waited to bleed. I've spilt that blood in my time. Original CD the drunkard















