This Is Not To Say, There Never

When You're Dreaming With A Broken Heart, The Waking Up Is The Hardest Part. You Roll Outta Bed And Down On Your Knees And For A Moment You Can Hardly Breathe.

Sometimes I Wish That I Was A Bong Hit, You'd Let Me In And You Would Love Every Minute.

The Outcome Of A Still Veracitless Life. Am I Livin' It Right?

You Know I Used To Be The Back Porch Poet With My Book Of Lines, Always Hoping Knowing All The Time, I'm Probably Never Gonna Find The Perfect Rhyme. . .for Heavier Things

I Mean There Are So Many Different Colors Of Life, Of Feeling, Of Articulation... So When I Meet Someone Who's An 8-color Type... I'm Like, 'hey Girl, Magenta!' And She's Like, 'oh, You Mean Purple!' And She Goes Off On Her Purple Thing, And I'm Like, 'no - I Want Magenta!'