All these words are just a front. What I would really like to do is chain you to my body, then sing for days & days & days.
What we speak becomes the house we live in.
I know you have a hundred complex cases against God in court, but never mind, let's just get out of this mess.
Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.
'Tis writ on Paradise's gate, Woe to the dupe that yields to fate!
There are different wells within your heart. Some fill with each good rain, Others are far too deep for that.