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Ancient stars seed this essential filth from which we feed. Yet I’d know in my sleep
the sweat-salts unique to My Love’s body. We guard our slime minds from the acquired grime of tangible time.
Still My Love assumes Justice should bloom from Nature’s womb as her own grace comes from her slumber unencumbered. But roses are top-heavy and roses are ostentatious.
I’ve never had nice stuff. I’d never own a nice thing and I’ve never even understood anyone with nice stuff.
The unwashed always will get reduced to shopping when horny. But My Love’s arm is
not a wing and her wing’s not a pectoral fin.
We’ve never had nice stuff. We’d never own a nice thing. And we’ve never really even been friends with anyone with nice stuff.
The UK upstarts' debut veers from sunny, psychedelic folk to bristling post-punk with reckless abandon without ever missing a beat. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 18, 2024