There was this long lovely dancer in a little club downtown, love to watch her do her stuff.
Up with the sun. Gone with the wind.
Some people say love is a losing game, you start with fire and you lose the flame. The ashes smolder, but the warmth's soon gone, you end up cold and lonely on your own.
It took me a long time to learn how to write a good song.
I'm not a number. Dammit, I'm a man.
Later in the evening when you lie awake in bed with the echoes from the amplifiers ringing in your head.