Maybe tonight, maybe tonight by the fire all alone you and I. Nothing around but the sound of heart and your sighs.

There's a mystery to writing, and you don't really know where most of it comes from.

I got worries by the ton, getting cancer's only one. Over taxed and alimonied, tired of eating fried baloney.

Then come and as we lay, beside this sleepy glade, there I will sing to you my Longfellow serenade.

Shilo, when I was young, I used to call you name.

The lyrics aren't simple, either. They're extremely difficult because I'm trying to say complicated things in as few words as possible.

I had always sung in my dad's shop. I worked there after school, and I'd be singing along with the top-40 records of the day.