You Could Listen To Woody

I Was Lingering Out On The Pavement. There Was A Missing Person Inside Of Myself And I Needed To Find Him . . . I Felt Done For, An Empty Burned-out Wreck . . . Wherever I Am, I'm A '60s Troubadour, A Folk-rock Relic, A Wordsmith From Bygone Days, A Fictitious Head Of State From A Place Nobody Knows.

It's Not A House, It's A Home.

The Longer You Live, The Better You Get.

Silvio, I Gotta Go, Find Out Something Only Dead Men Know.

Her Profession's Her Religion, Her Sin Is Lifelessness.