I have masturbated myself out of serious problems in my life.

If you had started doing anything two weeks ago, by today you would have been two weeks better at it.

I love you more than songs can say, but I can't keep running after yesterday.

Love is like grass. If you fall on it, it may leave a stain and some temporary pain. But you'll get over the pain, it will eventually stop hurting. Now maybe the stain ruined your favourite pair of jeans, or maybe it was nothing special that was ruined, but either way the stain remains there. And with time, it will begin to fade, but it will always be there, a permanent reminder that you, too, once fell.

I'll never let your head hit the bed without my hand behind it.

The outcome of a still veracitless life. Am I livin' it right?

I really don't want to be a hunk.