I feel a hate
It's far too late
The sword is short
Nothing really exciting
Fear of heart
Lost in lust
Come back to mother
Stay on shallow
Illusive brats
Desperate works
Don't dare to think beyond
A light discarded
A plastic soul
No longer rests in sleep
This is life.
They really don't make them like this anymore. Lo-fi pop hits drenched under layers of four-track tape noise, weirdo collage trips, Casio beats and mangled guitar shred. Lars Gotrich