I've got 50 different tunings in the guitar.

The bands and the roadies, love 'em and leave 'em. It's pleasure to try 'em, but trouble to keep 'em.

They paved paradise and put up a parkin lot With a pink hotel, a boutique, and a swingin' hot spot Don't it always seem to go That you don't know what you got till it's gone

Rationally I have no hope, irrationally I believe in miracles.

I come from pioneer stock, developers of the West, people who went out into the wilderness and set up home with nothing but a pair of oxen.

I paint my joy and I sing my sorrow.

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