The monotony overwhelms. A chorus flies by and I barely look up from my fourth plate of nachos. Some people drink when they’re upset – and even worse, some people write pop songs – but I just eat. Plate after plate after plate of squirrel soup, peanut casserole or pizza. Never has an album begat so many munchies. Every time I feel full or sick to my stomach, another bland “I Miss You REAL BAD” mantra flies by and I must once again stuff my face with that which makes me fat and happy. It might seem like a lazy mechanism, but so is A Rocket To The Moon’s music. There’s no soul, no urgency and definitely no sustainability. I’d be offended that On Your Side existed if it didn’t mean so much pepperoni pizza.
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