I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling rejected by the American people. I'm tired of waking up in the middle of the night worrying about the war.

If the American people don't love me, their descendants will.

I woke in the hour before dawn, stuck in that strange state where the memory of your dreams is still powerful enough to motivate your actions.

The thing I don't miss is waking up in the morning, hurting, the grind of the game.

It's not just about waking up and trying to be a star... It's practice, practice, practice.

Oh, got no reason, got not shame
Got no family I can blame
Just don't let me disappear
I'mma tell you everything