The doom of our favorite record lies in the harmonica of your mind spilling chord progressions of sophisticated and melancholy natures both in doing one and five things at once completely unorganized and obliterating of the system that sheds its lovely moniker on all sorts of children ranging from seven to five in a backwards nation similar to the one where cupid lives right now giving spongebaths to monkey-shiners and roustabouts while clean, crude people live in the hills above all sorts of cannibals conniving below in a sadistically contrived society labeling icicles and stalactites from kentucky to france in shoegazer like trance folding oak buckets that fight for trophies from the fields of minnesota to the lakes in the great lake state of mind that allows cannibals of course cannibals again to fill up their bellies with contrived works of art from humans to more humans to humans without diseases to humans who are unclean to humans feasting on other humans in a herculean labyrinth of skill and technology that all ends up without the word or world and slowly and slowly and slowly and slowly buzzing in our ears while slowly killing and dying at the same time of our minds compared to the world that we live in and all we can try to do is hurry home through the fog...