We Ask The Gods For Answers And

It's Hard For Me, A Jew, To Stay In The Moment. Without The Past, Where Is The Guilt? And Without The Future, Where Is The Dread? And Without Guilt And Dread, Who Am I?

Why Write A Song When No One Can Play The Notes Or Understand The Lyrics?

Routine Feeds The Illusion Of Safety.

I Think There Was Always Some Scrawny Dreamer Sitting At The Edge Of The Firelight, Who Had The Ability To Imagine Dangers, To Look Into The Future In His Imagination And See Possibilities, And Therefore Survived To Pass His Genes On To The Next Generation.

Just Because He Was Pretty Didn't Mean He Couldn't Be Improved By A Smack Upside The Head With A Piece Of Earnest Hickory