The Byrds flew off the fallout shelter, eight miles high and falling fast.

I don't relate to what's left of the music business. There doesn't seem to be any point to it anymore. The business that I grew up in and loved, we made records a different way - there were record companies, there were stores where you could buy albums.

Every thread of creation is held in position by still other strands of things living. In an earthly tapestry hung from the skyline of smoldering cities so gray and so vulgar, as not to be satisfied with their own negativity, but needing to touch all the living as well.

In the autumn of 1970 I had a job singing in the school system, playing my guitar in classrooms.

Do you believe in rock 'n roll? Can music save your mortal soul?

Bye, Bye Miss American Pie, drove my chevy to the levy but the levy was dry. Good old boys drinking whiskey and rye, singing, this'll be the day that I die.

There we were all in one place, a generation lost in space.