I Compare Songwriting To Childbirth.

It's Nine O'clock On A Saturday, The Regular Crowd Shuffles In / There's An Old Man Sitting Next To Me Making Love To His Tonic And Gin / He Says, 'son, Can You Play Me A Memory?/ I'm Not Really Sure How It Goes / But It's Sad And It's Sweet, And I Knew It Complete When I Wore A Younger Man's Clothes.'

You Look So Polished From Your Hair Down To Your Toes, But Still Your Finger's Gonna Pick Your Nose.

In Hell There's A Big Hotel Where The Bar Just Closed And The Windows Never Opened. No Phone So You Can't Call Home, And The Tv Works, But The Clicker Is Broken.

I Don't Know Why I Go To Extremes.

Don't Go Changing, To Try And Please Me You Never Let Me Down Before.