It Doesn't Take A Whole Long Life

If You Had To Pack Your Whole Life Into A Suitcase-not Just The Practical Things, Like Clothing, But The Memories Of The People You Had Lost And The Girl You Had Once Been-what Would You Take?

For Better Or For Worse, Music Is The Language Of Memory. It Is Also The Language Of Love.

The Bigger The Hole Inside You, The More Desperate You Became To Fill It.

I Drew It Over My Skin Like A Violins Bow, No One Would Ever Hear The Song Of My Shame.

Or. I Hate That Word. It’s Two Letters Long And Stuffed To The Gills With Reasonable Doubt.