It's the age of reason for the anarchist.

Every now and then you'll nail one that's really, really special. And that's what you live for.

I drive a Mustang. A 2005 five-speed GT convertible.

It's the age of reason for the anarchist.

Later in the evening when you lie awake in bed with the echoes from the amplifiers ringing in your head.

Call me a relic, call me what you will, say I'm old fashion, say I'm over the hill. Today's music ain't got the same soul, I like that old time rock and roll.

One victim lives in tragedy, another victim stops to stare, and still another walks on by pretending not to see