THE PLOT!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The anxious screaming of a crowd, the buzz of the lights,
the feedback when you plug into those stacks. This is what we live
for. We spend hours every day, jamming in someone's musty garage,
or their smoky basement, playing until our fingers are bloody and calloused,
our voices hoarse, all in hopes of someday reaching that unnattainable high.
The high that comes from being on stage, rocking out for our fans. We recognize
that not everyone can make it big, that there's only one Jim Morrison and that
our guitar licks will probably never be good enough to trump Jimi Hendrix, but we
try anyway. This is all there is for us. We're not from your world, we are the
underground, the kids that will never be doctors, never be lawyers or teachers
and we sure as hell won't ever win the Nobel prize. But we weren't given a choice,
from our first taste of rock `n' roll, we knew this is how we'd leave our mark on
the world or it's what we'd die trying to do.
THE PLOT
