You're Making Sense, Old Man, A Sense

What The Chronics Are - Or Most Of Us - Are Machines With Flaws Inside That Can't Be Repaired, Flaws Born In, Or Flaws Beat In Over So Many Years Of The Guy Running Head-on Into Solid Things That By The Time The Hospital Found Him He Was Bleeding Rust In Some Vacant Lot.

The '60s Aren't Over; They Won't Be Over Until The Fat Lady Gets High.

Good Writin' Ain't Necessarily Good Readin'.

Truth Doesn't Run On Time Like A Commuter Train.

When You're Around The Whole Dead Scene, They're There As A Tribal Thing; They're There As Part Of A Rendezvous And A Pow-wow.