Have you listened to the radio lately? Have you heard the canned, frozen and processed product being dished up to the world as American popular music today?

If I need a cause for celebration, Or a comfort I can use to ease my mind, I rely on my imagination, And I dream of an imaginary time.

I don't know why I go to extremes.

It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in / There's an old man sitting next to me making love to his tonic and gin / He says, 'Son, can you play me a memory?/ I'm not really sure how it goes / But it's sad and it's sweet, and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes.'

Well I never had a place that I could call my very own/That's all right, my love, 'cause you're my home.

People in music lie, but they don't expect you to believe them. People in television actually expect you to believe the lies.

I'm sure you have some cosmic rationale, but here you are with your faith and your Peter Pan advice.