You all who rely on the love you and your public have to give, ask them for a favor... I'm sure they'll be willing to grant you your last wish. Ask them to grace you with bands, having your lyrics and many other words they inspire written on them, wrapping them all around your bodies. You too, who pretend you don't dig being damn special; you're ready to spread your demonic lyrics until the end, because we know, you know you are no prophet concerned with the feedback of One.
You want those who can't be in the desired state of collective hysteria, in utter anxiety.
I'm sorry, but we're of another School, One you can't come in.
