this is the breaking point. there was never a point but somehow it broke. simply, music journalism is dead but we should do something with it. honestly, I don't care what you do with it. screw it like a necrophile, have a photoshoot with it, crossdress it!... I don't care. all I see is rats eating the flesh off. all I hear is locust sucking its blood. all I smell is its soul in swimming pools of payola... what do feel? y' know what? this album is about sliting your throat in a log cabin. like who screwed a broad in a pine tree and... who died while getting eaten alive by a yeti in the Norwegian forest. I died... well my soul died. here's some advice... run and run forwards. keep running and running and running until you find the end... the border. If you want to have some fun in the afterlife then start running backward. Keep running until you find a pit of lava or a portal to hell... either works. So... jump in. You'll have a better time on any level down here than on earth. WE HAVE THE FLUFFIEST DRUGS AND THE BEST BANGKOK WHORES! I'm going to the studio to kill you. this is the enddddddd mothercluckerrrrr! no more... no remorse. this is the end.
listen to real music. music made with blood, sweat, tears, and every other bodily fluid known to mankind. breathe the fog. breathe the soul. because, when the mandolins open up and the chokers snap in half... there will be no more breaking point. give up. stream farewell to all we know by matt elliott.
adios. - @kengoji™