*This is JUST before everyone recognizes their futility. This is when there's still a sense that we need to show good cleavage, slick our hair back and wear the most expensive and fashionable clothing - as if attraction and mating mean a damned thing in these days of broken promises. These are songs that hang themselves on the hot stuff, on a glaze of sweat and a dance floor where it only makes sense to dance closely, stickily. They are songs from groping, for dripping, for last-ditch efforts and for that brilliant flash that will finally mark the gasp and the whistle-stop. It's where everyone gets off, however they see fit. The explosion is theirs to do with it what they please.*
The Mars Volta, salud!!!
The Mars Volta, salud!!!
You are!!! you are, you are I think I may be the only one who jams this song out in a scientific, existential, non-romantic kind of way. Cheers to myself!!
