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

Most songs have meager beginnings. You wake up in the morning, you throw on your suspenders, and you subvocalize and just think. They seem to form like calcium. I can't think of a story right off the bat that was that interesting. I write things on the back of my hand, usually, and sing into a tape recorder.

Got 27 children I never see.

I'll tell you all my secrets but I lie about my past.

I don't have a drinking problem 'Cept when I can't get a drink.

All that you've loved is all you own

It's new, it's improved, it's old fashioned.