Well, the moral of the story, The moral of this song, Is simply that one should never be Where one does not belong. So when you see your neighbor carryin' somethin', Help him with his load, And don't go mistaking Paradise For that home across the road.

That's another way of writing a song, of course. Just talking to somebody that ain't there. That's the best way. That's the truest way. Then it just becomes a question of how heroic your speech is. To me, it's something to strive after.

I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished plan, like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

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

New York was a city where you could be frozen to death in the midst of a busy street and nobody would notice.

Charity is suppose to cover up for a multitude of sins.

The truth was obscure, Too profound and too pure, To live it you had to explode