Crimson flames tied through my ears rolling high and mighty traps, pounced with fire on flaming roads using ideas as my maps.

I was down in the sewer with some little lover.

Gotta head full of ideas that are driving me insane.

My songs were influenced not so much by poetry on the page but by poetry being recited by the poets who recited poems with jazz bands.

Either I'm too sensitive, or else I'm gettin' soft

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

I wish that for just one time you could stand inside my shoes. You'd know what a drag it is to see you.