The coming of the kids hasn't come out in my art yet.

You've got to shake your fists at lightning now, you've got to roar like forest fire You've got to spread your light like blazes all across the sky They're going to aim the hoses on you, show 'em you won't expire Not till you burn up every passion, not even when you die Come on now, you've got to try, if you're feeling contempt, well then you tell it If you're tired of the silent night, Jesus, well then you yell it Condemned to wires and hammers, strike every chord that you feel That broken trees and elephant ivories conceal

But now it's just another show, you leave em laughing when you go. And if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away.

I'm irresponsible to my career in order to paint. Because painting is obsessive. I forget to eat. I forget to sleep.

When the world becomes a massive mess with nobody at the helm, it's time for artists to make their mark.

I see bodies as individual things.

Because Elvis gave 'em cars, you think I'm cheap.