My Life Is A Vast Inconsequential Epic.

Somewhere Along The Line, The Pearl Would Be Handed To Me.

Down In Denver, All I Did Was Die.

And This Is The Way A Novel Gets Written, In Ignorance, Fear, Sorrow, Madness, And A Kind Of Psychotic Happiness As An Incubator For The Wonders Being Born.

You Can't Teach The Old Maestro A New Tune.

And When The Fog's Over And The Stars And The Moon Come Out At Night It'll Be A Beautiful Sight.