I Have Often Prayed For

My Page Was Too White My Ink Was Too Thin The Day Wouldn't Write What The Night Pencilled In.

I Would Say The Hummingbird Really Deserves The Royalties On [some Of My Songs].

Seven To Eleven Is A Huge Chunk Of Life, Full Of Dulling And Forgetting. It Is Fabled That We Slowly Lose The Gift Of Speech With Animals, That Birds No Longer Visit Our Windowsills To Converse. As Our Eyes Grow Accustomed To Sight They Armor Themselves Against Wonder.

A Song, You Know, You've Got A Tempo. You Know,you've Got Something That Is Moving Swiftly. You Can't Stop It, You Know? Andit's Designed To Move Swiftly From, You Know, Mouth To Mouth, Heart To Heart,where A Poem Really Speaks To Something That Has No Time And That Is - It's Acompletely Different Perception.

Here's To The Few Who Forgive What You Do, And The Fewer Who Don't Even Care