For 70 nights, right across America, I've been getting out there with two ex-lovers and we've been playing songs which are so specific about each of us, you just wouldn't know. We're friends now but we can't forget what happened between us.

That's the words: "So I'm back to the velvet underground" - which is a clothing store in downtown San Francisco, where Janis Joplin got her clothes, and Grace Slick from Jefferson Airplane, it was this little hole in the wall, amazing, beautiful stuff - "back to the floor that I love, to a room with some lace and paper flowers, back to the gypsy that I was."

I've laid down with love and woke up with lies. What's it all, worth only the heart can measure.

The people that can't sing anymore that had great voices are the people that went away for five years and then just decided to come back. And you just can't make a comeback. Comebacks are no good. You have to just keep singing. Or keep dancing.

Most women would not be happy being me. People say, 'But you're alone.' But I don't feel alone. I feel very un-alone.

And the moon never beams Without bringing me dreams And the sun never shines But I see the bright eyes I lie down by the side Of my darling My life, my life.

In comparison to the eight years I spent on Klonopin, the cocaine and brandy wins hands down. If you are ever in a drugstore and they put you on Klonopin, run out of there screaming.