Sex, Blood and Rock n Roll

It's Friday night and us Ravens trash the stage with distorted bass lines and vitalized screams. My seizure moves ripple through my body, creating electronic visualized cyber punkness. Ben's losing his shit, smashing Bloody Mary with a mixture of violence and lustful strokes, hitting her metallic pulsing strings as if his life depended on it.

We make contact.

Her head stock smashes into my brow.

The warmth of blood bubbles down the bridge of my nose.

Finally we are free.

Free to be what we want to be.

Real artists.

We sweat.

We suffer.

We bleed.

We love.

If we didn't do what we do, there would be no point of our existence.

Thank you for your support.