Enter the era of Fiscal Doom.
The currently democratically-elected Kings of this here nation are busy. Just flat chat wrapping our knuckles with steel rods, birthed from the now forgotten mining boom of late 2012. The fitting punishment for our decadent living over the past few summers. We had a good run. No, we had a bloody great run. Hydrating that jog with champagne and chocolate-dipped blueberries that were handpicked by the most rarest of all gold-plated pigmy people of the Western Australian Wildnerness (WAW). Sure, those salvation activities affected our PB's, but it was worth ever salivating drop of pure Moet and berry suckling.
And, as is often the case, in these hardest of all hard times, dreams remain a paramount currency. A solid investment for the pennies we scrape together each week, calculated after deducting the compulsory $7 doctor visits and numerous prescribed bouts of $3.50 ales. These dreams remain our striving motivation as our limbs dismember after 40-hour work days that we're now forced to endure. Crushed further under the knowledge that that this will remain our primary existence from now until we're at least eighty years old — operating the machines that power the machines that build similar machines to simplify our former luxurious existences via some of sort of confusing parallel time-travel wormhole. It's best to not think about the faults in that logic stream. Our minds, disabled from years of insufficient education, will mostly likely explode under the stress.
Here's a future relic of this era. One of Sydney's finest continuing on their rebellious task of blurring/destroying the line between organic and industrial. Between these endless soul-crushing work days we now fight through and the limitless possibilities of the world we knew and loved only yesterday.
Dream Job is the first taste off the group's forthcoming debut full length, HIGHLIFE, due out soon in an admirable effort to save us all.