I'm aware enough, I guess, of American labor history.

I envy your ignorance, I hear that it's bliss.

Up up up up up up points the spire of the steeple but god's work isn't done by god it's done by people

Goldfish have no memory, I guess their lives are much like mine. And the little plastic castle is a surprise everytime.

I knew naturally as a child not to forfeit my creativity to a world that's all laid out for me. I'll look at everything around me and vow to keep in mind that alla this is just someone's idea. It could have just as well been mine.

We get a little further from perfection, each year on the road, I guess that's what they call character, I guess that's just the way it goes, better to be dusty than polished, like some store window mannequin, why don't you touch me where i'm rusty, let me stain your hands

But as bad as I am, I'm proud of the fact that I'm worse than I seem