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I've been a bitter ghost in a slowly dying scene. I looked deep inside, there's not too much there that I can see. Breathe in deep through bonfire smoke and one last cigarette. You've gotta smoke that cigarette. I'm on a journey out but I don't think I've halfway made it yet. Exhale slow, so far to go. Latitude, longitude. A couple hundred miles of cobwebs on long lost crates of files. Latitude, longitude. We're strips of rubber on the shoulder of the highway, so far away from where we used to be. I've got a quarter tank, I've got a suitcase packed with booze. I've got a little bath salts and I don't have that much left to lose. I'm just here glowing in these taillights. Somewhere just past the 10,000th mile mark - you've gotta hit that mile mark - you get the urge to spin the wheel into the dark. Into the blackness, the nothingness, and it welcomes you and you just go on. Latitude, longitude. Crashing down stairways on the drunkest nights. Latitude, longitude. Sleeping on couches after the dumbest fights with your anger glowing like embers in the campfire smoke.

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from The Worst Record of All Time, released October 14, 2014

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Safety Razors Binghamton, New York

Mediocrity Pop Punk.

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