Lose the box. I wince during this otherwise beautiful musical experience as I endure the beating of a goddamn box adorned with electrical tape. The idea's great after a bong hit in somebody's basement. But not in this venue. The box sounds like shit. Lose it, boys.
Didn't people die every day that you did whatever it was that you did before the day that you died? All while the uncomfortable truth emerged and whispered that you made no good goddamn difference, while the others stress to burnish into new time the lie that says that even that has got to stand good for something, even if, in truth, it was good for absolutely nothing. Below zero.