It's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace, and a wound that will never heal. No prima donna, the perfume is on an old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey. Goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers and goodnight, Matilda, too.

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

I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things.

George Bush is a fan of mine, he came to see me in the Seventies. His coke dealer brought him.

I really like your playing

I sold a quart of blood and bought a half a pint of scotch

I was always laughing in church.