I'm looking over rooftops, and I'm hoping it ain't true, that the same God looks out for them, looks out for me and you.
I'm singing for the love of it/Have mercy on the man who sings to be adored.
I do think that there's art that is tortured, but I prefer art that has the joy in it.
Every heart is a package tangled up in knots someone else tied.
Around mile 20 I was feeling so good, I wanted to kiss everyone.
Mud and water and the stumps of trees. In every direction that was all there was. Bodies fell, but the trees died standing up.