It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it.
Desolation, desolation, I owe so much to desolation.
I see as much as doors'll allow, open or shut.
all I wanted to do was sneak out into the night and disappear somewhere, and go and find out what everybody was doing all over the country.
Bee, why are you staring at me? I am not a flower??
Sure baby, mañana. It was always mañana. For the next few weeks that was all I heard––mañana a lovely word and one that probably means heaven.