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Low-budget electronika. Pirated software. Singing into headphones. A fair amount of reefer. Songs about pretty young ladies. Songs about war. A song to show my mathematical description of GODS. Written while camping inside city limits. Written while living in a storage garage. Polished in a smelly basement with big-legged crickets that stare. It'll make you dance. It'll make you cry. It'll make you wish you had antennas on your head, cause you're so buggy. Listen to the politicians lie. Listen to me woo. Listen to the alien racket, the stellar catastrophe, the starship landing beacon. It's amateur season, it's musical hermit steps out from his mountain top time. Listen to the anthem of my revolution. Listen to the brain leak'n muse'n.
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