It's not easy in this phosphorescent gloom telling waking dreams apart anyhow.

Telling what you feel, trying to talk about what's important to you, does not make you weaker.

If your standards are low, you're going to stop pretty early on in the process.

Nightly you retrace your steps again to return to the scene of the crime. It's uncanny how you hover in the air of the wreckage that you left behind.

Anybody who cares less about wanting to be cool, I think, is more interesting.

But I can't confront the doubts I have. I can't admit that maybe the past was bad, and so, for the sake of momentum I'm condemning the future to death so it can match the past.

I wanted to try to write songs on the piano to get a different flavor.