Well the Lone Ranger and Tonto, they are riding down the line fixing everybody's troubles, everybody except mine.
If I had wings, no one would ask me: should I fly?
I don't think I'm tangible to myself.
Little red wagon, little red bike, I ain’t no monkey but I know what I like.
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey, who pick up on his bread crumb sins, and there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden.
Anybody can be specific and obvious. That's always been the easy way. It's not that it's so difficult to be unspecific and less obvious; it's just that there's nothing, absolutely nothing, to be specific and obvious about.