I'm Not A Folk-singer. I

I'm One Too Many Mornings, And A Thousand Miles Behind.

Well, I Don't Know, But I've Been Told The Streets In Heaven Are Lined With Gold. I Ask You How Things Could Get Much Worse If The Russians Happen To Get Up There First; Wowee! Pretty Scary!

In Another Lifetime She Must Have Owned The World, Or Been Faithfully Wed To Some Righteous King Who Wrote Psalms Beside Moonlit Streams.

Gold Will Never Free Your Father, The Price, My Dear, Is You Instead.

A Song Is Like A Dream, And You Try To Make It Come True. They're Like Strange Countries That You Have To Enter.