Really the truth is just a plain picture. A plain picture of, let's say, a tramp vomiting in the sewere. You know, and next door to the picture Mr. Rockefeller or Mr. C. W. Jones on the subway going to work. You know, any kind of picture. Just make a collage of pictures.

He's hell bent for destruction, he's afraid and confused, and his brain has been mismanaged with great skill.

The National Bank at profit sells road maps for the soul.

A cork screw to my heart, ever since we've been apart.

There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better.

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

I gotta friend who spends his life, stabbing my picture with a bowie knife. Dreams of strangling me with a scarf, when my name comes up he pretends to barf.