Nothing terrifies me more than the middle of nowhere: America. It’s one thing to put your faith in a friend or family member, but just physically being in a town where everyone puts on a smile for the next citizen without batting an eyelash or real feel is a faith that can only be sacrificed. Looks out the corner of eyes. People disenfranchising the word, “Hi.” Rebellion still seen as being offensive, when it was probably learned from a commercial in between the hour-block of Cosbys, answering questions that totally gentrify and stereotype black American families. So huff all the glue in the grave yard. Tag every house in the hood.
Glue Moon Records be blowing billows of clouds in the backwoods, so Trance Farmers can plant some seeds on your mind grapes. And For Whom The Scarecrows is just a foot-squash of a good vino. So glug on down to Glue Moon Records for the snot in all of us:
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