The scars of your love remind me of us they keep me thinking that we almost had it all the scars of your love they leave me breathless I can't help feeling we could have had it all
I was about to meet Beyonce, and I had a full-blown anxiety attack. Then she popped in looking gorgeous, and said, "You're amazing! When I listen to you I feel like I'm listening to God."
My voice went recently, never happened before, off like a tap. I had to sit in silence for nine days, chalkboard around my neck. Like an old-school mime. Like a kid in the naughty corner. Like a Victorian mute.
I enjoy being me; I always have done. I've seen people where it rules their lives, you know, who want to be thinner or have bigger boobs, and it wears them down. And I don't want that in my life. It's never been an issue - at least, I've never hung out with the sort of horrible people who would make it an issue. I have insecurities, of course, but I don't hang out with anyone who points them out to me.
I get shitty scared. One show in Amsterdam, I was so nervous I escaped out the fire exit. I've thrown up a couple of times. Once in Brussels, I projectile-vomited on someone. I just gotta bear it. But I don't like touring. I have anxiety attacks a lot.