Machine retailer Gun

Ezra Arrow Kire of Morning Glory. To escape my literary self, I once embarked on a new career in a new town; it was a big city actually. The work was stupid and hard and the company sucked. I managed to save enough cash to get out. The decision to leave was made having knocked off early one Friday afternoon, upon retailer taking an impromptu stroll around the harbour. I decided to turn Morning Glory's War Psalms up loud on headphones. The amphetamines were pumping. By the time the record reached I Want Control, the decision to leave had practically made itself. Morning Glory are like a hard-drug fuelled, operatic, early Green Day on Armistice Day, when the soldiers are permitted to drop the delirious solemnity of men for an unlikely moment. While I probably wouldn't get much into attending their shows, I'll always have time for the records or pivotal historical documents; whatever you wanna call them.

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