DESCRIPTION:
(An Anarcho Soft-Rock Manifesto)

Attempt to leave communication
Somebody else will figure it out
Here we are in parent’s basement
Flying ‘round on cheap guitars

I’d love to see you
Garden Tuesday
I’d love to eat the sun’s
commie rays
To each according to her
ability
Now we alright now feelin’ gay

No more rich astronauts
flying nightmares from the basement
No more pocky for your soul
3 square meals of rich communication,
no one talks before their rolls
are broke!

And the offering is naked, noticed well not hated
And the myth will smile back perfunctory
With torn perfection at the
Factory of Funk

All the money evaluated
By Angels in the sun