Satellites mistook for stars

Les dejo la intro del compilado de screamo "The Emo Apocalypse"... si tienen chance de descargarlo, háganlo!

A toast. Tonight we drink to numbers, a set of graphs tables and formulas that equate to you and me. We can be added, subtracted, multiplied and divided. The ones and zeroes, the yin and yang of information, cascades of it reaching us faster than our own ideas. Satellites mistook for stars, always knowing where we are even when we don't. Blood shot eyes and bruised finger tips, mental masturbation via cathode rays. We need something visceral, we need to see starlight, not limelight. Definitions will be changed, sights will be heard and sound will be seen, screaming in revelry. Years will pass before the minutes do. Social and temporal fabrics unwind as we tug the threads, frayed edges, only then will we be able to fuck in the streets amidst the lonely buildings. Dollar bills will be used for campfires instead of justifying natural disasters. Conversation will be the only real currency. The ghost of a prozac nation burned to the bones by choices beyond paper or plastic, that or worse. So raise your glasses my friends our heartstrings are about to play a new song...