I wrote the song For A Dancer for a friend of mine who died in a fire. He was in the sauna in a house that burned down, so he had no idea anything was going on. It was very sad.

I've also gotten to play in front of a million people in Central Park when there was a grass roots movement calling for nuclear disarmament - it was about 1982 - they called it Peace Sunday.

Got seven women on my mind. Four that want to own me, two that want to stone me, and one says she's a friend of mine.

I started playing the trumpet when I was about eight.

I want to know what became of the changes we waited for love to bring/Were they only the fitful dreams of some greater awakening?

Caught between the longing for love, and the struggle for the legal tender, where the sirens sing and the church bells ring, and the junk man pounds his fender. Where the veterans dream of the fight, fast asleep at the traffic light, and the children solemnly wait for the ice cream vendor.

Coffee in the morning, cocaine afternoons.