We had a death pact, and I have to keep my half of the bargain. Please bury me next to my baby in my leather jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots. Goodbye.
I'll probably die by the time I reach 25. But I'll have lived the way I wanted to.
I've only been in love with a beer bottle and a mirror.
We're really quite nice and friendly, but everyone has a beastly side to them, don't they?
I'm not chic, I could never be chic.
I was the only guy with any bit of anarchy left.