Locus of Control

by SEX BBQ

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04:23

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released October 2, 2012

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SEX BBQ Atlanta, Georgia

The new debut LP, Sex Noir City, opens with ghostly angelic choirs chased by twisted demon surf riffs that segue into primal ass-shaking garage punk. It's the perfect table setter for this moody, dualistic record that, depending on the track, could instantly spark a frantic psychedelic beach party or send listeners tumbling back inside themselves into stark, soberly desolate self examination. ... more

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Track Name: Locus of Control
(Kate) My locus of control is outside of me cuz I never do anything that’s really really mean but when they world’s exposed it’s a raging victory of external simulations of raging enemies.

(Bunny) Have you ever found yourself blame it on your enemies? The heat from your lungs escapes when you breathe.

It’s not my fault. They all laughed at you and how can you say I cheated?

Chorus: Oh baby. I’m human. Hell, I make bad decisions. Day by day, I’m driven. I got no inner vision. Oh honey. I’m killin’. Gunslinger, death for dinner. Every night lonely, driven. You are my only vision.

(Kate) You’re sentimental in an obvious way. My only sentiment is how to get laid. Loosen up, Lucifer, here’s the key: I’ll be really good if you’re talking to me.

(Bunny) Anais Nin, step away from the knife. She’ll shoot your husband and she’ll eat your wife.

(Kate) Cuz I got a dollar and a head full of stars, a prospective biopic, in this guitar.

Chorus: Oh baby. I’m human. Hell, I make bad decisions. Day by day, I’m driven. I got no inner vision. Oh honey. I’m killin’. Gunslinger, death for dinner. Every night lonely, driven. You are my only vision.
Track Name: Wake Up
Help me, I fell in a wishing well
I can see moonlight but down here it’s hell
Falling apart with each arduous step
Scaling the walls, and sliding back down

Dancing, the moon, in a prosthesis shop
A boy who makes lemonade drops
Slipping and sliding
There’s no denying
These stone cold walls

Wake up to red velvet curtains
Wake up to New York City
Wake up, you are no longer dreaming
Now there is no more to see

Lower a basket, I need some provisions
Toss in a record by Bad Religion
I’d rather rumble with the rocks
Than jingle with jade. I’m sliding back down.

Alchemists deliver wisdom
While nonsense pours out of a sage
Years in the future
I’ll need no more sutures
In stone cold halls

Wake up…