Congregate what little ounce of decency is left and gather enough courage to invoke contractions in your vocal chords. Admission of guilt through confrontation. I’ve had to chisel every lie out of your mouth and after all this time I’ve grown immune to your embrace. Spare me and my virgin ears
from a stale conception. Admit that I’m the victim and cradle consequence. Line your insides with a sense of wrongly obtained righteousness. Spread your poison as thin as you possibly can to ensure you violate every inch of common ground. Call me a cancer, keep convinced that you’re not sick yourself. You will be exposed as soon as the worlds eyes can fully adjust to the dark. I was the cure to your corrosion, but now I want to watch your skin rust and slowly grow disco- loured... and when your throat buckles under the weight of the accumulation of perjury, I want to watch the life seep out of your tear duct as your death rattle hits my eardrum and thaws what’s left of my cold heart. I hope you choke to death. The compass has been cracked... I hope you fucking choke to death.
supported by 31 fans who also own “Tragedy Will Find Us”
Local Violence wrapped up recording for our last music video, 218. There was a bonfire going with music playing. New & old friends playing games and having fun. Citizen came on and immediately caught my attention. It was after a deep dive into their discog that I found this masterpiece. Everybody is Going to Heaven has become one of my all-time favs with its crunch, its hope, its cynical bleakness. Caleb Wallace