There Were Songs I Would Write About

I Still Don't Know How To Drive. I Don't Go Anywhere, Really. My Brother Drives Me. I Walk Around My Neighborhood But I Don't Go Anywhere, Nor Do I Want To.

I Had Really Bad Obsessive-compulsive Disorder. At Its Worst, I Was Compelled To Leave My House At Three O'clock In The Morning And Go Out In The Alley Because I Just Knew That The Paper-towel Roll I Threw In The Recycling Bin Was Uncomfortable, Like It Was Lying The Wrong Way, And I Would Be Down In The Garbage.

Heaven Help Me For The Way I Am, Save Me From These Evil Deeds Before I Get Them Done.

He Goes Along Just As A Water Lily Gentle On The Surface Of His Thoughts His Body Floats Unweighed Down By Passion Or Intensity Yet Unaware Of The Depth Upon Which He Coasts And He Finds A Home In Me For What Misfortune Sows, He Knows My Touch Will Reap

Most Of The Time You Need Something To Fight Against. If Something Is Bothering Me, Then The Only Way To Get Past It Is To Work Through It.