Yo, what do you want, beak or jaws, feathers or fur, sharp teeth or feet with claws,

whatever's preferred, they'll grant you all last request to steady your nerves, then podcast

the body parts get severed and serked. Bring your weak shit, where the wall finale, that ain't just

a mistake, that's an awful howler. Both of them are known to pull up at your shows.

Have the crowd witnessing a murder like they rolled in with a gang of crows. Fuck their censorship. Let them see the whole thing. They stay dressed to kill. Never sheep's clothing. Dark enough to turn the sun to the moon. You'll see nothing. All your hears are huffer puff and a expect killings red spilling and flesh ripping

impressive in it the death bringing his head spinning

just kidding every word in his songs about two grown men

dressed up as a bird and a dog

welcome to the Wolf and our podcast.

I mean, I can't tell you how dejected we're feeling right now because we're hungover.

We did a gig late, did a gig last night, got home late.

And the reason I'm saying this so half-hearted is because we talked about all of this.

We unpacked it all for about 15 minutes.

And then Tom revealed that not for the first

time, he had not bothered to fucking record what we were doing. Yeah, but also you've got to remember

that you weren't recording either. Hold on. Hold on, hold on. I wasn't screen recording,

right? I was audio recording, right? So my part of it, if you want me to put out my one-sided part of the conversation, I can't screen recording, right? I was audio recording, right?

So my part of it,

if you want me to put out my one-sided part of the conversation,

I can do.

Okay.

As far as I was concerned,

...