A mess. Just a mess.

Americunts vs Canadicants

"And again we try to just STAY ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE"

The singer just screamed out from the bottom of his soul in front of the crowd who pressed against the barriers, that sentence who was just a part of the song that he was doing his best to make good. It was hard for him to do, his guitar was obstructing his moves, his dark hair kept falling in his eyes and each time he leaned closer to his microphone, he ended up feeling a light fear of leaning too far, too quickly, and hitting it. 

It was the price to pay for no one to notice the little salty drops that kept on rolling down his cheeks, if he moved quickly enough, the cameras couldn't capture these moments, the crowd couldn't see it and even his bandmates kept being blind to these tears. It has been the same since that one night they recorded that song, that was the only time where he settled down and played it correctly, without the rage of the moment, without the pain pushing him more and more and more to the point where he could barely speak the next day. 

He loved to push his voice, using music as his catharsis but it had a price, like everything, and often, this price was emotional. His public never seemed to understand the true meaning of what he was singing. Fuck it. He just wanted to play music. He didn't care if they didn't understand because no one else than him needed to understand 

Adam threw his head back, panting and covered in sweat, exhausted by the long hour that he spent, running through the scene, making contact with his public and singing his soul out. He could barely stand, accumulating the restless nights and the sleep deprivation from the tour. 

Tomorrow, they'll have a day off and it'll be perfect... he'll be able to visit Huntington Beach, have fun, let go of the pressure and more than anything : SLEEP. Or so he thought... 

With a heavy sigh that seemed to shake his whole body, the male grabbed his vintage microphone that he ended up taking everywhere and leaned grabbed it, holding onto it to stay up. His breath was heavy, the air seemed hard to take and the summer sun was harassing. For the first time in a very, very long time, he hated to be wearing black, he was... so... hot... and it sadly wasn't in a way that he wanted to be hot. 

In the crowd though, a pair of eyes were looking at him with a mocking and evil air, that person obviously preparing what he would tell the band as soon as he'll meet them backstage. It was funny to be famous, no need to buy a V.I.P pass to go see bands in their backstages... all you needed to do was show your ugly mug and security let you through. 

All around him, the guitarist  could see that the people seemed to really love the band playing on stage... bullshit. It wasn't punk, it was some sort of stupid fucking pop-rock who made him want to puke. He definitely didn't like them and the singer's voice was one hundred times too annoying for him. Their guitarist, who seemed to be around two meters tall didn't do anything else than simple chords and our dear viewer was sure that it wouldn't take him more than a week to learn all their songs. They had no originality, all that they did was spit out some industrial shit with what sounded barely like a signature sound. 

They were just good little kids from Canada, a bunch of men whores of the music for the horny teenage girls. They could only be that regarding their fake emo angelic faces. He hated it so much. 

The musician, standing in the crowd in the middle of all their fans, just wanted to get up on stage and spit at their face, look how they'd react if someone didn't treat them as Gods of the music because they clearly weren't that. 

Getting bored as the concert was going on and on and on, our dear guitarist with hedgehog hair decided to jump into every single mosh-pit that he found, just so he could forget the music and make time go faster.