Chilean illustrator Felipe Escobar: “WIngs of Death and Fire”
Never had no friends, I was always the outcast
Just a psycho weirdo, I was just a piece of thrash
But I always had a partner in crime, that’s me and Jim
‘Cause I spent a lot of time in jail hanging out with him
Hanging out with Jim, hanging out
Hanging out with Jim, hanging out
Hanging out with Jim, hanging out
Hanging out with Jim, hanging out
Me and Jim were always, always going out
Looking for some fistfights, we were smashing all about
Never knowing where we’d end up, always breaking the law
Beating up on young girls, some nights we almost died
Jim and I were fucking crazy, we never had a care
Riding on a death trip, causing trouble everywhere
We’re uncontrollable, rebels with a cause
Mr. Beam was always there when I wake up on the floor
Hanging out with Jim, hanging out
Hanging out with Jim, hanging out
Hanging out with Jim, hanging out
Hanging out with Jim, hanging out
When a good friend dies, certain memories of you that only your friend had die as well. In this way, part of you dies with your friend.
This works for enemies too, or people who know too much
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