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.

I still believe in the power of the word, that words inspire.

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels The dizzy dancing way you feel As every fairy tale comes real I've looked at love that way.

I had made all these rules for myself: I'm not writing social commentary, I'm not writing love songs.

Musically, I don't think I'd ever dry up. I trust my musical invention.

Nobody understood The Reoccurring Dream, but after September 11, when we were coerced to do a national duty and go out and shop, surely people could begin to see what I was getting at.

You feed it all your woes, the ghostly garden grows.