Music was performed by mutilated dolls inside burnt down houses next to the abandoned Mill. A roland 303 was gutted. Artifacts of post-industrial society tore the joys and life out of faces as they wandered the wasteland of abandoned hardware. Psy-cops scanned the dry thickets high and low. Toads sat silent. The digital alchemist sautered the final diode onto the motherboard and threw a midi switch at full rate. Daddy was on his Deathbed. And as the Gentle Giant trudged down the middle of the road, traffic flew chaotically into the ditches and came to a screeching halt. Suicide kids appeared as ghosts at every street corner. The Gate was open.
