My love is like some raven at my window with a broken wing.
I never could guess your weight, baby.
On the stone that remains carved next to his name, his epitaph plain, only a pawn in their game.
In writing songs, I've learned as much from Cezanne as I have from Woody Guthrie.
Although the masters make the rules for the wise men and the fools, I've got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
Can you please crawl out your window? Use your arms and your legs, it won't ruin you