My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip, my toes to numb to step, wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

I used to think it's better if you just live and die and no one knows who you are.

Well, it's hard to stumble And land in some muddy lagoon When it's nine below zero And three o'clock in the afternoon.

You learn from a conglomeration of the incredible past - whatever experience gotten in any way whatsoever.

How many years can some people exist before they're allowed to be free.

Because Dickens and Dostoyevsky and Woody Guthrie were telling their stories much better than I ever could, I decided to stick to my own mind.

If you're not busy being born, you're busy dying.