The woman I love she got a prize fighter nose, cauliflower ears and a run in her hose.

Never make it perfect.

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.

My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip, my toes to numb to step, wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

She's a hypnotist collector; you are a walking antique.

I didn't know whether to duck or to run, so I ran.

They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings steal a little and they throw you in jail. Steal a lot and then they make you king.