Spicy Cactus, a dance of lariats and mohawks, rusted in the moonlit pogo of time. Stitched in DIY constellations, where the riot of the West whispers to the gob of punk. Distort the horizon, where outlaw spurs skank upon the dust of the twilight's fanzine. Oi, the drifters! Dive into this maverick mirage where cacti wear studs and the echoes of slam harmonize with the silent tales of a desolate ranch.
