Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there's a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There's something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in in their hands. A lazy rhythm looms in the dreamy air and the atmosphere pulsates with bygone duels, past-life romance, comrades requesting comrades to aid them in some way. You can't see it, but you know it's there

Popular music had never had lyrical sophistication of this type [like Bob Dylan]; wit, to be sure, but "Darkness at the break of noon/Shadows even the silver spoon/The handmade blade, the child's balloon/Eclipses both the sun and moon/To understand you know too soon/ There is no sense in trying"? No.

I was born a long way from where I belong and I am on my way home.

I fought with my twin, the enemy within.

Proud to steal her anything she sees, but you will wind up peeking through her key hole down upon your knees.

How many deaths will it take 'till we know that too many people have died?

On the stone that remains carved next to his name, his epitaph plain, only a pawn in their game.