Listen to the unbridled cavalcade of free crap, streaming through every pore of your being. Let it ring through every orifice, glistening like melting chocolate on the skin of a womanly universe. The shimmering highs of the melody lines will complete your very being and fill the void left by Uncle LeRoy, after thanksgiving dinner one night when your parents were sleeping. The uncluttered, syncopated rhythm will make you forget about how your genitals smell like a catastrophic series of bad decisions.
The bass-line in this collection of watered down beats, left over from 1993, will jostle you like a ruthless lover, forever into rough sex. Your perception will be placed in heavenly orbits, like the flight of 10087 Howler Monkeys being launched into the vacuum of space by a giant cannon.
Listen to the voices scream the ultimate truth, intertwined with one too many whispers from former lovers of interior decorating. You're about to have a full blown psychotic episode of love, vim, and vigor. Relentless beats pulse forever in the chaos of cricket songs and moonlit evenings.
