I’ve never met someone who wasn’t afraid of death…
I guess that’s a perk of being the son of the Grim Reaper. The smile that greets you at the door before you enter into the greatest party of your life. Let his voice guide you, let the pulsating noise of his screamo-rap take your mind into a vortex of Simpsons episodes and zebra cakes. With your heart pulsating and earphones shaking, you realize you don’t have to listen, you need to listen.
You need to listen to Filthy Savior.
A beautiful nightmare wrapped into the finest Newport ever rolled. Listening is exactly what you would imagine cocaine to feel like. Bumping to his latest drop “Birdie” for hours, his lyrics become a high within themselves. A euphoric vortex of horror and ecstasy. Words that grip the mind and take you to a turned up Alice in Wonderland. I was at the point that my eardrums were on the cusp of deafness. I wonder, “Did I just meet somebody famous in my damn kitchen?”
So I guess I’ve never met anyone like Filthy Savior. But nobody has.
Lighting up a cig, with a ‘7’ branded on his face, he doesn’t live life to die in a cubicle. This tatted up biker boy will be heard. Because he needs to be heard.
Through the sound, sweat, and drinks. He’s everything you are when the sun is down. The Dr. Jeckyll to your Mr. Hyde. He’s the middle finger to your lame ass boss and the dream we shouldn’t have dropped for that ‘‘real job”.
So thank you, Filthy. You fucking college dropout. Thank you for being different and not fitting society’s standards. Thank you for proving that you don’t need to go the gym to carry a lot of weight.
Deep down, we all wish we had the same courage as you do to follow a dream and flip the birdie at the world.
“You gotta die for what you believe in. I don’t give a fuck if that sounds cliché. People say clichés but don’t actually do them. This isn’t a dream for me, son. This is going to happen”.
So let me introduce you to the future repeat on your playlist.