Now its raining its pouring the old man is snoring now I lay me down to sleep I hear the sirens in the street all my dreams are made of chrome I have no way to get back home I’d rather die before I wake like Marilyn Monroe and throw my dreams out in the street and the rain make ‘em grow

The Music was like Electric Sugar

For a songwriter, you dont really go to songwriting school; you learn by listening to tunes.

I knelt at the altar of Ray Charles for years. I worked at a restaurant, and that's all there was on the jukebox.

Are you still jumping out of windows in expensive clothes?

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

It's rather mystifying when you think about writing songs - where they come from, and how they're born.