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Summary
It was no passing thought, though. The truth, in her shining white shroud, and dinky bloodied blindfold, appears in mortals' times of great need, to deliver the facts. And the facts were clear. Regrettably, Murdoc's new singer happens to be really, really pretty. And as the weeks ran painfully into months, as New Year's came and went and as the newborn Gorillaz struggled to find it's footing — and a decent guitarist — the truth would keep insisting on itself, knocking on his metaphorical front door every morning to preach her holy gospel.
"It's a pity, isn't it," she says, as her hair gets caught on her iron crown, where it blows in the late winter winds, "that someone so annoying is stuck in the body of someone so beautiful."