Born between the sea and the storm,
the slow creeping glaciers between Nebraska and Gunz.
Bored of blaming the devil for his Blind Hand of poker.
Above and below, the burning city streets warm
these soles, but not like your tongue does. In the morning
we'll whisper that again once you know our name.
Life's lust lives a dirty laugh, sweet and sour decadent past.
These hollow guitars fill our souls,
we're Blind when our Hands touch them.
...So it goes.
We did an interview and shoot the other day.
You can catch a peek here...
London Kicks
