The people who come to me are the people who are meant to come to me.
Too many hearts have been broken, failing to trust what they feel.
For those two years in college I was constantly singing and writing and playing in coffee houses and stuff.
Mystery's a thing not easily captured, and once deceased, not easily exhumed.
I love Don Williams records. And old Ralph Stanley and Bill Monroe.
Lessons learned are like bridges burned you only need to cross them but once. Is the knowledge gained worth the price of the pain, are the spoils worth the cost of the hunt?