Birds of prey. That's all they are. All we are.
When I first noticed them on the horizon, black spots, moving, I blamed the mescaline. I have seen movement in places beyond this realm.
I drove by, aiming guns nonetheless. I shot one of them. Dead or not, a human is a human. I dug a grave of sorts, ignored the memento. Who will remember these times but me?
As I started the engine, the horizon moved again. With a sigh I loaded my gun.
Whether this haze is mine alone or a world beyond recognition I'll never know.
For now, I'll ride.
Moan is total negative amp worship from Groningen, The Netherlands.
Smoke. Get high. Kill yourself.
Edition of 50 tapes
Comes with a screenprinted patch