Recordings by the do-pest @ UNLV studios 

Kept the flame bright as we held through the night 
Who am I to fool when your word is the tool and your gun is the rule to a fight 
Identify yourself, exclude property and wealth 
When's the time to smile when your gatekeeper is a child who lives in denial of bad health 
Do you remember living on that playground as a kid innocent of all the things you've been around? I don't get it 

Fall into a pit with no ground 
Share that relief of silence and sound 
Don't forget to feed your pain with apathy 
Admit your insane is sanity 

Castle in the sky, guilt's of a ruin left to dry 
Built upon a brick that never really fit but held all the tricks to comply 
Drudgery over maudlin, purging with a coffin 
Carry all the weight with a chance to berate all that you create thanks to sin

Don't Ask

 
Is it time to withdraw from this isolated diversion from which we call home? At the corner of complacency and malignant minds, rush hour is permanent and discretion is futile. The concrete has dried but the children’s feet continue to sink. A light flashes green but not for more than a second before halting the nature of progress. Clocks indicate debt and a conversation becomes loitering. Every face that passes by is a comfy house; eyes like windows to peer through but all are afraid to knock on the door but never too hesitant to breathe on the window and scratch into the fogged up surface before vanishing off the beaten path. Reach beyond the pale where Mother Nature will answer questions that are unimaginable. Listen without thought and teach without force. Use this new fiery rapport to melt away the frozen ambitions of a conventional majority. At last, the water is here; though its pliability cannot be fully digested because now the boundaries are extinct. From here on every step forward gives birth to the orders of the new man. 
From here on every action performed and every word spoken will be a reflection of an elemental lullaby. Upon this introspection coalesced the nativity of Firewater Folklore.     


Don't Ask

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