The Mileage


Some souls weren’t born to be tamed. We identify with them the most in our happiest and loneliest times, in the witching hours of emotion when our hearts are torn between the dawn and dusk of possibility. It’s within these confines The Mileage feels most at home; a gravel-toned drifter claiming dibs on the downtrodden, acting as shepherd to a lost flock whose faith is shaken but not shattered, bruised but not broken. A bluesy rock original whose heroes have long gone, yet live on through a voice as smokey as barrelled bourbon from Lucifer’s own brimstoned cellar.

With nothing to lose nor to capture the elusive shooting stars we all wish would shine down upon us, there’s a rickety old boxcar train rambling in the nether regions somewhere just over the horizon. The smokestack steams, the steel wheels grind, the whistle blares out its lone-wolf catcall and the brown paper bag with the bottle half full, if you’re an optimist, is passed among the huddled masses of God’s own forgotten.

 So sit back, take a sip and let this wounded warrior who rises to fight another day prove why sinners truly do make the best of saints.

 - Wesley Mitchell Spyke

Mileage Front


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