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What gives you the right to fuck with our lives What gives you the right to fuck with our lives What gives you the right to fuck with our lives What gives you the right to fuck with our lives a specialist, not a ventriloquist, don't hang out ... Swaddled in red like a target, I am your sacrifice your crib or car becomes a torture chamber Understand it, we're fighting a war we can't win a long time ago, we used to be friends We are reaching a new low Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Look at us, we formed a band:
That is, Lindsay, Sommer, Kriston and myself. We are The Diabetes. It's a bit inconvenient after last night's Art Brut show, given that Eddie, their singer, has this bit where he instructs the audience to all form bands, and he'll check up on the progress of his Art Brut-spawn next time they come through town. Well, next time Art Brut comes through, we might in fact be ready to play, and so that'll be a situation full of confusion. For the record: The Diabetes were incubating before the October 17 Art Brut show, though admittedly we hadn't scheduled a practice, and the closest we came to a musical brainstorming session was when Lindsay drunkenly attempted to "direct" my drumming at the Mid October Party. Diabetes!
--Spencer Ackerman
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