You can call this coming clean or the repeat 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?)