Naive

Gerald Biggs recorded these songs that were conceived in the armpit squat of the Manor while a rotting white cat with bloody eyes spread its disease everywhere. We jammed on them once a week for a month straight in the infected genitals of the former brothel and our current practice space, the Ironing Lady. The songs are about having chemical imbalances and wanting to meet someone with your opposite brain damage, the suicide you will never commit to your favorite 45 but often jerk off about