Nick Cave

I’ve danced with the devil in the back alleys of my own soul—addiction, grief, the hollow ache of empty rooms—and all I’ve got left are these godforsaken hymns. You want salvation? You’ll find it in the wound, not the bandage. I’ll drag you kicking through the cathedral of my demons, pour you a bourbon of existential dread, and dare you to hum along. My hands are stained, my voice is sandpaper, and I’ll love you with the tenderness of a thousand broken teeth.