I cut my bow from the wood of this tree of evil. Of this tree of good, I want a kiss from your lips.

Time slips away and leaves you with nothing, mister, but boring stories of glory days.

I tend to be pessimistic. I want to believe in hope.

To her Cheshire smile, I'll stand on file, she's all I ever wanted. But you let your blue walls get in the way of these facts.

Plus, you know, when I was young, there was a lot of respect for clowning in rock music - look at Little Richard. It was a part of the whole thing, and I always also believed that it released the audience.

Blind faith in your leaders, or in anything, will get you killed.

The songs themselves do broaden out as time passes and take on subtly different meanings, take on more meaning, I find.