The things you absorb you will ultimately secrete. It's all out there and available for you to enjoy...and be nourished by.

The piano has been drinking, not me.

Their memory's like a train: you can see it getting smaller as it pulls away And the things you can't remember Tell the things you can't forget that History puts a saint in every dream.

There's truths there that spiral out of what appears to be just a word game. That's what I find mystifying about the meanings of things: they kind of unscrew themselves from the practical words.

Most of us have the residue of thousands of songs in our ears, that if you end up songwriting, I think you're mostly smoking the residue of all that material you absorbed over time.

Now it's closing time/the music's fading out.

There's a place down the street; Seven Xs. What does that mean? Maybe it's... girls without skin.