From the recording Pageripper S/T
some days you’d kill for quiet. say “fuck it”, tuck and roll and let your ride fly headlong, southbound straight into traffic. cause i’d rather be scab-kneed and free than get this feeling all the time: that blue or white your collars never bothered to be untied until you’re 65. til your 65? no, that can’t be right. i’m a breakdown away from burning down this fucking place. can you smell the sulphur? bring your fire and i’ll bring the gasoline. we’ll have a picnic burning ants. magnifying glass. a toast to our dreams.