For me, there’s a fine line between telling a story that’s fictional with lots of details and then removing yourself too much from it, so it’s bloodless, a little too fictional.
The moth don’t care when he sees the flame He might get burned, but he’s in the game And once he’s in, he can’t go back He’ll beat his wings till he burns them black.
You know what, the drummer is my manager. He’s busy. And I’m busy. I don’t need the dough, though. But having said that, there’s a limit to how much bad music I wanna play.
