In Writing Songs, I've Learned As Much

Madonna, She Still Has Not Showed, We See This Empty Cage Now Corrode, Where Her Cape Of The Stage Once Had Flowed, The Fiddler He Now Steps To The Road, On The Back Of The Fish Truck That Loads, While My Conscience Explodes.

I Say There're No Depressed Words Just Depressed Minds.

People Are Going To Say, ‘well, It’s Not Very Truthful.’ But A Songwriter Doesn’t Care About What’s Truthful. What He Cares About Is What Should’ve Happened, What Could’ve Happened. That’s Its Own Kind Of Truth. It’s Like People Who Read Shakespeare Plays, But They Never See A Shakespeare Play. I Think They Just Use His Name.

But Even The President Of The United States Sometimes Must Have To Stand Naked.

Dead Man, Dead Man When Will You Arise? Cobwebs In Your Mind Dust Upon Your Eyes