There's a little bit of fruitcake left in everyone of us.
Under the heavens and under the sea there's a friend I don't know, who holds the right key.
It was too much Tequila, or not quite enough.
My mother insisted that her children read.
My only contact with the outside world was an RCA Victrola, and Elvis would sing, and then I'd dream about expensive cars.
Back to my childhood where those monsters reside. They snack on innocence and dine on self esteem.