Behind Every Beautiful Thing, There's Some Kind

An Artist Is Always In The State Of Becoming.

The Ghosts Race Towards The Light, You Can Almost Hear The Heavy Breathing Spirits, All Determined To Get Somewhere. New Orleans, Unlike A Lot Of Places You Go Back To And That Don't Have The Magic Anymore, Still Has Got It. Night Can Swallow You Up, Yet None Of It Touches You. You Can't See It, But You Know It's Here. Somebody's Always Sinking.

I Was Burned Out From Exhaustion, Buried In The Hail, Poisoned In The Bushes, Blown Out On The Trail; Hunted Like A Crocodile, Ravaged In The Corn, "come In," She Said, "i'll Give Ya Shelter From The Storm."

You Just Have To Keep Going To Find That Thing That Lets You In The Door. Sometimes In Life When That Day Comes And You're Given The Key, You Throw It Away.

Shakespeare, He's In The Alley With His Pointed Shoes And His Bells, Speaking To Some French Girl Who Says She Knows Me Well.