Give us Direction; the best of goodwill; Put us in touch with fair winds. Sing to us softly, hum the evening's song. Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.

Too many temples where we could worship the beast.

I'll make love to you in all good places, under black mountains and open spaces.

Did you ever get the feeling that the story's too damn real?

Everyone is from somewhere, even if you've never been there.

Too many heroes stepping on too many toes, too many yes-men nodding when they really mean no.

Hold your head up to the gun of a million cathode ray tubes aired at your tiny skull.