In America everything's about who's number one today.
Sister, I won't ask for forgiveness, my sins are all I have.
That's what being a front man is all about - the idea of having something supple underneath you, that machine that roars and can turn on a dime.
In a restless heart the seed of betrayal lay.
It's always felt natural, because I'm generally very comfortable with people.
With a chance to make it good somehow, hey, what else can we do now? Except roll down the window, and let the wind blow back your hair.