I Don't Write The Songs; I Just

Every Writer At The New Yorker Is Smarter Than Me.

There's A Whole Lot Of People In Trouble Tonight From The Disease Of Conceit Whole Lot Of People Seeing Double Tonight From The Disease Of Conceit Give Ya Delusions Of Grandeur And A Evil Eye Give You The Idea That You're Too Good To Die Then They Bury You From Your Head To Your Feet From The Disease Of Conceit

Don't Wanna Marry Nobody, If They're Already Married.

Music Can Save People, But It Can't In The Commercial Way It's Being Used. It's Just Too Much. It's Pollution.

Your Heart Is Like The Ocean, Mysterious And Dark.