Pushed up from a field of flocks, landed on Broad and Long. Running the van through corn chasing load ins and bar tabs. Working the soil proved fruitful. Blue carpet kept us safe, the basement brought us together. We lost something in West Liberty that we can’t get back. The soil cries out. We lost something in Cincinnati that we can’t get back. The rock still wet with deep red hues. This van is forever; brother’s keeper. Loud abrasion born of the 90’s. We are three guitars, one bass and a set of drums trying not to live in fear and somehow it’s getting better.