Being on tour is like being in limbo. It's like going from nowhere to nowhere.

Sold my guitar to the baker's son for a few crumbs and a place to hide.

There are degrees of happiness. You go from one to the other and then back again. It's hard to be completely happy when those around us are suffering and groaning from hunger.

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.

Lay down the song you strum, And rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings No voice can hope to hum.

People disagreeing everywhere you look makes you wanna stop and read a book.

No reason to get excited,' the thief, he kindly spoke, There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.