You breathed on me and made my life a richer one to live, when I was deep in poverty you taught me how to give. Dried the tears up from my dreams and pulled me from my hole, quenched my thirst and satisfied the burning in my soul.

You'll find God in the church of your choice, you'll find Woody Guthrie in the Brooklyn State Hospital.

Mama, put my guns in the ground, I can't shoot them anymore. That long black cloud is coming down.

God is in heaven, and we all want what's his. But power and greed and corruptible seed seem to be all that there is.

There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better.

My guard stood hard when abstract threats, too noble to neglect, deceived me into thinking, I had something to protect.

I've been up the mountain and I had a choice. Should I come down? So I came down. God said, Okay, you've been up on the mountain, now you go down. You're on your own, free. Check in later, but now you're on your own.