It's four in the morning, the end of december I'm writing you now just to see if you're better.

I heard of a man who says words so beautifully that if he only speaks their name women give themselves to him. If I am dumb beside your body while silence blossoms like tumors on our lips it is because I hear a man climb stairs and clear his throat outside our door.

Get ready for the future: it is murder.

As our eyes grow accustomed to sight they armour themselves against wonder.

I try to make those references. I try to make sure that they're not too obscure. But outside of that, I dare not claim anything in the spiritual realm for my own.

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.

I think that any songwriter - and I think that Bob Dylan knows this more than all of us - you don't write the songs anyhow.