Linkin Park - Hands Held High

It was also a musician, one of Sonny's friends, a small, stocky, coal-black jolly one. From the spot in the quarry, he loudly began to tell me in secret the most terrible things about Sonny, and his teeth sparkled like a spotlight on a lighthouse, and the laughter that gurgled in him was something like an earthquake. And it turned out that here, at the bar, Sonny knows everything or almost everything; some were musicians who worked here or in the neighborhood or didn't work at all, others just hung around here, and the rest came to listen to Sonny's play. I was introduced to them all, they were all very kind with me, and yet it was clear that for them I was just his brother. Here I was in the world of Sonny. Or rather, in his kingdom. Here, no one ever doubted that royal blood was flowing in Sonny's veins.