from by Pandas



You’re radiation but you ain’t radiating me. Splitting hairs or particles, makes no difference to you either way. This contamination ain’t contaminating me from the seeping reactors that power all the lines you say, which induce half-life decays. Your words, they’re weapons-grade. You’re no stain, that won’t exfoliate. So go and trip those circuit breakers that regulate cooling towers. Let lead walls melt like alka-seltzer into puddles of boiling slag. A capsized raft. Arctic seas. A well-polished guillotine. Is that all you’ve got? Well, that’s what I thought. With those rolled-up sleeves, don’t make me laugh. I’m welcoming the acid rain. I’m cheering on the discordance. I’m finalizing backup plans, and aren’t I fetching in the sunset apocalypse. Your contamination ain’t contaminating me from the poison byproducts of all the words you say. One can’t satiate a thirst to suffocate. Caught up in the fallout and debris, it won’t scald me. Dragged under by the riptides teeth, it won’t drown me. Fires leaping at my bound feet, they won’t asphyxiate me.


from Brahe, released August 24, 2011



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Pandas Baltimore

It’s like punk, but with more musicianship. Maybe it’s actually prog, but prog that never went to Berkeley. Then again,maybe it’s metal, but without all the spiky leather. Or perhaps it’s hardcore, but more Greg Ginn and less Jamey Jasta.

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