And the seasons they go 'round and 'round And the painted ponies go up and down We're captive on the carousel of time We can't return we can only look behind From where we came And go round and round and round In the circle game.

We are stardust, we are golden and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden.

Elusive dreams and vague desires fanned to fiery needs by deadly deeds of falling empires.

Land of snap decisions, land of short attention spans, nothing is savored long enough to really understand.

He's swept with the broom of contempt and the rooms have an empty ring.

I'm your biggest fan, California, I'm coming home

My family could only afford to get me the box of eight Crayola crayons, but I craved the one with all 24 colours. I wanted magenta and turquoise and silver and gold.