Research, Research, Research. It Means Everything.

I Think It's Pretentious To Create Art Just For The Sake Of Stroking The Artists Ego.

The Music Is All. People Should Die For It. People Are Dying For Everything Else, So Why Not The Music?

The Sickness Of The Mother Runs On Through The Girl, Leaving Her Small And Helpless. Liquor Flies Through Her Brain With The Force Of A Gun, Leaving Her Running In Circles.

You Do This Because You Like It, You Think What You're Making Is Beautiful. And If You Think It's Beautiful, Maybe They Think It's Beautiful.

All The People Have Gone To War Leaving No Interrogator To Mind.