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When someone needs to fly, sometimes it’s best to pull the ground away.
Music had always been one of Hell’s most prudent investments, and Tremon took a workmanlike joy in delivering a steady dividend of crushed dreams, bitterness, and, above all, souls.
“Everything the audience hears, what we strive to create … what we live to convey … it comes from there. In your hollows. In your nothingness. “There is where your music gains its life.”
Who needs the Devil when people can create a hell like this themselves?
