After awhile, your, your cheap talk don't even cause me pain, so let your bullets fly like rain.

You know you are a sweet little heart breaker, foxy lady.

Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past? And with its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom, it whispers no this will be the last.

The reflection of the world is blues, that's where that part of the music is at. Then you got this other kind of music that's tryin' to come around.

We want our sound to go into the soul of the audience, and see if it can awaken some little thing in their minds... 'Cause there are so many sleeping people.

Is this love, baby, or is this just confusion?

I wanted to be listened to. I don't know if they were or not, though.