Don't Waste The Breath To

But I Would Rather Be With You, Somewhere In San Francisco On A Back Porch In July, Just Looking Up To Heaven, At This Crescent In The Sky

I Won't Slave For Beggar's Pay, Likewise Gold And Jewels, But I Would Slave To Learn The Way, To Sink Your Ship Of Fools.

Every Song Falls Short Of The Glory Of What A Song Could Be. That's Why The Urge Is There To Start Again And Yet Again. Often It's The Fault Of Rhyme. I've Discovered A Hundred Times That There Just Aren't Enough Rhymes To Say What I Wanted To Say, So I Said Something Else Instead. Sometimes It Was A Better Thing, But The Thing I Meant To Say Went Unsaid. So There's An Opening For Another Song.

There Are Things You Can Replace, And Others You Cannot. The Time Has Come To Weigh Those Things, This Space Is Getting Hot.

Sit Back Picture Yourself Swooping Up A Shell Of Purple With Foam Crests Of Crystal Drops Soft Nigh They Fall Unto The Sea Of Morning Creep-very-softly Mist...and Then Sort Of Cascade Tinkley-bell Like (must I Take You By The Hand, Every So Slowly Type) And Then Conglomerate Suddenly Into A Peal Of Silver Vibrant Uncomprehendingly, Blood Singingly, Joyously Resoundingbells....by My Faith If This Be Insanity, Then For The Love Of God Permit Me To Remain Insane.