I look up prick in the dictionary, 
It's something like thorn wounds from a Bush,
And eight years later we gave him a push,
Maybe we should take a look at the books.
How to react to the common fact,
That maybe what's next might be the same?
And they say it's the people who are to blame,
When it's the politicians who put us to shame.
Well it's just me;

Living my life not hurting anyone,
Or anything that I see.
But you're always looking down on me.
I do what I'm told, a puppet hanging on a string.
Leave me alone, leave alone
Just let me be.
But you insist on screwing me.

I felt like they felt in history,
The same old thing as sixty-nine,
And they tell me "don't worry it will all be fine."
But their fucking pockets are deeper than mine.
They try to cover our eyes and ears,
Putting those filters on TV.
Censoring what we hear and what we see,
When they're all teeming with disease.

Living my life not hurting anyone,
Or anything that I see.
But you're always looking down on me.
I do what I'm told, a puppet hanging on a string.
Leave me alone, leave alone
Just let me be.
But you insist on screwing me.

Living my life not hurting anyone,
Or anything that I see.
But you're always looking down on me.
I do what I'm told, a puppet hanging on a string.
Leave me alone, leave alone
Just let me be.
But you insist on screwing me.

Spit-Single

Spit

Five musicians came together from the chaos of life, bringing with them their own elements and influences. The result, defies conventional expectations of formula. Simplistic and layered, the sounds embrace a diverse and eclectic gamut of audible interactions. Striking familiar chords while simultaneously expanding to uncharted spaces in the contemporary world of music.

Spit

The Alpha Process