Saint Jude’s Infirmary , Sometimes are Peter Pan, Sometimes are Vampyres. They have cheated adulthood. They have martyred child-hood. They are genuine artists, they are base and stuff their rider in their guitar cases and drink it in bus shelters. They are as tight as a terrorist cell. They despise each other with a cold hearted passion. They want to play as soft as falling snow. They want to make bang like Neanderthal. They read Dylan Thomas for his grace. They read The Daily Record for the football.
They are from Edinburgh Scotland and play slow and brutal poetry. The songs are of sad eyed remorse sung by throats cried hoarse. The girls sing sweet, the boys sing coarse, the girls weave honey, the boys pick sores
Happy Healthy Lucky Month
This Has Been The Death Of Us