Dynamite Arrows
In conclusion, the members of Dynamite Arrows were born in a bleary-eyed mad eagle’s dream and their respective hometowns. Sure, they’re made of powers, but dare ye hold it against them? Their songs have parts, and those parts have pizzaz, you have neither, and when Robert spittles on your face microphone in head drunk on midnight and the spirits of several thousand or so dead nights you’ll be privy to what it means to be alive yet adrift but popping and strangely sound in moments these lads have practically peeled out of the lifeshit with a melon scoop-like because they are a pack of musicians true and through I’ll betchya, a couple of real special jobs in the slurred color show places and the feedback corners of semi-ill-repute on the wrong side of dawn. I’ve never seen ‘em, can’t say I would like ‘em none neither but you know what the whittlin’ generals down by the creek say: “Once a lover, twice a dove, gimme a punch and I’ll shoot you.” Dynamite Arrows=good.
