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From the dirges of the tarpits, the carnivorous ones emerged. Crawling towards the megalith. Cold. Drenched under empty sky. Destination in ruin. Their true gift lies in the paths left behind. For within the muck of their grimy paths lie the primordial soup of sonic ascension. The muck is the miracle. The miracle is Stoner Rock. (Stoner Rock/Doom/Sludge/Heavy Psych/The kind of cacophonous sound that would warrant a description such as this)
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