In Writing Songs, I've Learned

She's A Hypnotist Collector; You Are A Walking Antique.

I'm Not Going To Read Any Of These Magazines. I Mean, Because They've Just Got Too Much To Lose By Printing The Truth. You Know That.

I Didn't Come Out Of A Cereal Box.

Let Me Drink From The Waters Where The Mountain Streams Flood Let The Smell Of Wildflowers Flow Free Through My Blood Let Me Sleep In Your Meadows With The Green Grassy Leaves Let Me Walk Down The Highway With My Brother In Peace Let Me Die In My Footsteps Before I Go Down Under The Ground.

Watch Waterfalls Of Pity Roar, You Feel To Moan But Unlike Before, You Discover That You'd Just Be One More Person Crying.