When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud, I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.

I met a young man who was wounded in love, I met another man who was wounded in hatred.

This land is your land and this land is my land, sure, but the world is run by those that never listen to music anyway.

"Subterranean Homesick Blues" [of Bob Dylan] captures, in word-salad format, life in an encroaching police state.

Having hits buries a singer in the past. A lot of singers hide in the past because it's safer back there. If you've ever heard today's country music, you'll know what I'm talking about.

You might be a rock and roll addict prancing on the stage. You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage.

Pain sure does bring out the best in people, doesn't it?