Proud to steal her anything she sees, but you will wind up peeking through her key hole down upon your knees.
The truth was obscure, Too profound and too pure, To live it you had to explode
There must be some kind of way out of here,' said the joker to the thief.
[Bob] Dylan crashed his motorcycle in 1967, and almost died. A few years ago, he referred to the experience as a "transfiguration."
Gold will never free your father, the price, my dear, is you instead.
You don't write a song to sit there on a page. You write it to sing it.