Valley of the Giants: Westworld
The desert floor cracks with each snap of the snare drum. Dry air crackles with electricity- buzzing strings against frets- a whining electric slide climbs into the blue sky, an eagle shrieking bloodily. You lick your parched lips, strange and wounded they feel upon your lizard tongue as you catch scent of life- of sustenance. Creaking and smoking with dust you track down the fragrance to lift ladle to mouth, to inhale... to swallow... some 10-W-30- for you are a robot cowboy and this is "Westworld" by Valley of the Giants.