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of what you know about the struggles I once
had as I’m learning to let go. I made a pledge
to myself, if I was to raise my voice to be direct
as I can be no matter what I may destroy. But
I can’t say I haven’t aged. I’ve outgrown what
I used to be. I won’t fake what is expected
to succeed with album three (that’s not me).
Does this mean that the words won’t come?
Does this mean that I’m at my end? If my joy
comes with the price of my love, I won’t pay if
I have to pretend. There’s always a chance to
relapse and fall back to the person I still fear
is there. So if this ink will suddenly run out,
I’ll refill if I feel the need to share. It was the
Fall of last year in New York City. Day two of
a tour, when my friend Johnny said “Hey, I’d
like you to meet Andy.” We got to talking and
connected on some things, mutual friends
how his band started writing. But, then something
was spoke, I knew exactly what he
meant, I understood when he said, “it’s hard to
write content.” And it still is. But I won’t take
a step back though it might be for the best.
I know you asked for some advice; they use
your blood to capitalize. So, expose all your
secrets. To move units, display your weakness.
You might spend some years alone, for
the price of forgetting your home. Expose
what hurts you the worst, the exchange
deals a handsome return (are you in?)