Dear Garbage,
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When I first got your album Garbage, I got sucked into your world of pink feathers, charming vices, bitter revenge stories and one of the most sensual female voices I had heard. I grew up emotionally with that album (I was 14-15 years old at the time), I can't even begin to explain its importance to me.Then came Version 2.0. Your dark stories got a tad lighter, but were also enriched with aggressive and melodic beats. I was there, dear Garbage, enjoying the hell out of it. Someday Shirley Manson announced that she is seeing a therapist & is actually feeling happy. Hooray!, I thought. Silly me. You went ahead and dropped a pointless, shallow, bubble gum album, Beautiful Garbage; I won't waste many words on this album, let's just say that I'm still waiting to see the "Beautiful" part.Next album was Bleed Like Me, which wasn't as bad as Beautiful Garbage, but it was still bad. I stopped bothering, and yet, for some reason, kept a small light in my heart for you, a ray of hope that you would one day go back to what you do best.After some years of silence, rumours of getting back together and solo careers, you decided to release your best of. And you even wrote a new song, titled Tell Me Where It Hurts:I'll tell you where it hurts; it hurts in the heart. Some years back, you took a shit over what you created and your fans loved, and after all these years, the best you could come up with was an uninspired song with childish lyrics, to shit some more on my memories? Well, FUCK YOU right back. Thank you for killing the last hope I had left. It's time for us to truly break up and never meet again. The more I see of you, the more disappointed I get. I'll keep those first two albums & my memories and you keep the money I spent on you.Used to be yours,Anna.








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