We rock off the socks of all the kids down the block, who  come out to the shows to get away.
and we play music sweet like honey dew  but our instruments don’t talk the way money do.
We play sounds that pack a punch of the kid who’s parents don’t love him enough to make him lunch, so he hits the kid just doing his best until his stomach is fed and his starving heart is all that’s left.

And when the man with the sweet tea smile walks in to collect, he will line his pockets and pat us on the back with the hand that just stole a nights meal cause what left will go to the rent.

The starving artist will die by a needle tip, because he tied off his urge to eat with a band on the arm. Said he was injecting inspiration into his veins so he could write a new song to play and cover up his hearts hunger pains, and feed dying dreams.

But Look mom Im in a band and well rock your socks off down at the local club, and feed the hungry pigs that keep us as pets, cause they make good company for starving artists that live for dreams and fear dying of regret.