In Love We Are All Brothers And

Time To Write And Sing, To Laugh, To Listen, To Discover, To Cry, To Love Music.

Grace Is What Matters. In Anything. Especially Life, Especially Growth, Tragedy, Pain, Love, Death. About People, That's What Matters. That's A Quality I Admire Very Greatly. It Keeps You From Reaching For The Gun Too Quickly; It Keeps You From Destroying Things Too Foolishly; It Sort Of Keeps You Alive And Keeps You Open For More Understanding.

In Love We Are All Brothers And Sisters

And Though The Meaning Fits, There's No Relief In This. I Miss My Beautiful Friend.

I Think I Would Really Lay Down And Die. Music Comes From A Very Primal, Twisted Place. When A Person Sings, Their Body, Their Mouth, Their Eyes, Their Words, Their Voice Says All These Unspeakable Things That You Really Can't Explain But That Mean Something Anyway. People Are Completely Transformed When They Sing; People Look Like That When They Sing Or When They Make Love. But It's A Weird Thing—at The End Of The Night I Feel Strange, Because I Feel I've Told Everybody All My Secrets.