The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world.

Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love.

It's time that we began to laugh and cry and cry and laugh about it all again.

The dreamers ride against the men of action. Oh see the men of action falling back.

It's not a cry you can hear at night. It's not somebody who has seen the light. It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

As the mist leaves no scar On the dark green hill So my body leaves no scar On you and never will

As soon as anybody does one of my songs, I rejoice. This particular case of all these great singers doing my work - the implications are very rich and the temptation to think of the outcome of these masses of the mainstream injecting my work into the marketplace, it's a very sweet speculation.