On The Cliffs Of Your Wild Cat

The Radio Makes Hideous Sounds.

If I Had The Stars From The Darkest Night And The Diamonds From The Deepest Ocean, I'd Forsake Them All For Your Sweet Kiss, For That's All I'm Wishin' To Be Ownin'.

The Hollow Horn Plays Wasted Words, Proves To Warn That He Not Busy Being Born Is Busy Dying.

When You've Got Nothing, You've Got Nothing To Loose.

Because Dickens And Dostoyevsky And Woody Guthrie Were Telling Their Stories Much Better Than I Ever Could, I Decided To Stick To My Own Mind.