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lyrics
Arriving early, the opening hour. Raiding straws from the condiment station. I disappear into the bathroom stall. My handwritten sign taped to the door. This one reserved for me. Door is locked. Alone for hours, waiting, fixating. The first arrives, I listen close as my ear is pressed to the wall. Dripping fluids, passing gas, solids fill the bowl. I hope and pray, after they spray, they don’t flush it away. And with my wish awaits my dish as they leave me my gourmet. I sneak on out, hit my knees, my straws firm in hand. A glorious pile for me to feast, I slurp all that I can. Back to my stall, I sit and wait for my next meal left unflushed. Imagining flavor and textures formed as my meal leaves their butts.
supported by 14 fans who also own “Flux Fluid Fixation”
I thought this was ridiculous but the Mark Cooper cover kept bringing me back. I learned to appreciate slam more and one day this just clicked. Even the drum machine and parody vocals somehow make sense now, and the guitar sounds terrific. Pure insanity. Alien slam. Metallurgical Fire