She Takes Your Voice And Leaves You

My Senses Have Been Stripped, My Hands Can't Feel To Grip, My Toes To Numb To Step, Wait Only For My Boot Heels To Be Wandering.

People Talk About Frank Sinatra All The Time - And They Should Talk About Frank - But He Had The Greatest Arrangers. They Worked For Him In A Different Kind Of Way Than They Worked For Other People. They Gave Him Arrangements That Are Just Sublime On Every Level. And He, Of Course, Could Match That Because He Had This Ability To Get Inside Of The Song In A Sort Of A Conversational Way. Frank Sang To You, Not At You, Like So Many Pop Singers Today. Even Singers Of Standards.

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

I'm Sick Of Giving Creeps Money Off My Soul.

They Can't Hurt Me. Sure, They Can Crush You And Kill You. They Can Lay You Out On 42nd And Broadway And Put Hoses On You And Flush You In The Sewers And Put You On The Subway And Carry You Out To Coney Island And Bury You On The Ferris Wheel. But I Refuse To Sit Here And Worry About Dying.