In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.
I tell you such fine music waits in the shadows of hell.
I made practice runs down to skid row to get ready for my future.
I guess we often get the deep blues, both of us, and wonder what it all means- the people, the buildings, the day by day things, the waste of time, of ourselves.
I have loved you woman as surely as I have named you rust and sand and nylon.
When a writer is swayed with his fame and his fortune, you can float him down the river with the turds.