He swift don't win the race. It goes to the worthy, who can divide the word of truth.

The one who is not being born is dying.

To preach of peace and brotherhood, oh what might be the cost? A man he did it long ago, and they hung him on a cross.

Anger and jealousy's all that he sells us, he's content when you're under his thumb. Madmen oppose him, but your kindness throws him, to survive it you play deaf and dumb.

Someone showed me a picture and I just laughed, dignity never been photographed.

Inside the museum infinity goes up on trial. Voices echo, 'This is what salvation must be like after a while.' But Mona Lisa must have had the highway blues; you can tell by the way she smiles.

I think I have a dualistic nature.