I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.
Immerse your soul in love.
I'd like to run for president. Or Prime Minister. I think I could do a better job.
I'm not a martyr, just a musician who dies for your sins. Oh, that's what a martyr is? Very well then, I am a martyr, if you insist.
My mother tried to abort me herself with a coathanger, hence my wobbly eye.
We didn't start out to make a protest record at all. That would have been too shallow. As usual, it was simply a case of absorbing what's going on around us.