If I am asked what I will have in my room to surrender myself into windy addiction of cocaine; made of music and lyrics and some sands,  

then I will choose a rebel. 

All the great rebels started from a black rotten room and with no lights; only filaments and music and some words to escape. 

The great rebels always started from themselves. 

And they drank and they puked on the papers, 

that’s all.