18. Richey James Edwards
Richey is one of the best writers to ever grace music but one of the worst lyrics. Sometimes his lines are awkward, sometimes his ideals too stripped down or simplified to be coherent (though this probably more Bradfield and Wire's fault) but they're always raw, idealistic and angry (mostly on the Holy Bible, which is the goods) though sometimes its confusing as to who the anger's directed at, society, himself or how s
hit the Manics would become.
Quote:
You have your very own number
They dress your cage in it's nature
Once you roared now you just grunt lame
Pace around pathetic pound games
They drag sticks along your walls
Harvest your ovaries dead mothers crawl
Here comes warden, Christ, temple, elders
Environment not yours you see through it all
Wanna get out won't miss you sensaround
Carry your own dead to swing your tyre tricks
Wanna get out here you're bred dead quick
For the outside,
The small black flowers that grow in the sky
Here chewing your tail is joy.
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