What, reunion? Good luck with that. People get divorced for a reason.
We’re all bleeding on the inside.
Those who say don’t know. Those who know don’t say.
Those a**holes out there, they don’t give a s*** about music. That’s why they make money.
This is what happens when a label picks you up. We groom you, we work with you, we turn you into something that might actually have a life.
There’s more than one way to be dead, Pop.
There’s luck and there’s pressing your luck.
There’s always somebody bigger, and that’s the moneyman.
The money they’re paying, call it Nazi World. Who gives a f***?
The bigger they are, the worse it gets.
That’s a skeleton. Everyone’s got one. Then you add the flesh, the hair, the eyes. You do that, then you got a song.
So let it be written, so let it be done.
