Most people love you for who you pretend to be.

Film spectators are quiet vampires.

We hide ourselves in our music to reveal ourselves

Actually I don't remember being born, it must have happened during one of my black outs.

Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light? Or just another lost angel... City of Night?

You know the day destroys the night, Night divides the day, Tried to run, Tried to hide, Break on through to the other side...

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.