I Have A Hot Memory, But I

You Know, I'm Fifty-two Now And I Call Myself A Singer. Before I Kick It I Want To Be Able To Carry A Tune In A Living Room If Called Upon. Of Course, Mine Come Out All Dark And Twisted And Weird.

Your Skin Starts Itching Once You Buy That Gimmick About Something Called Love.

I Think That All The Years Of Exposure To Amps And Electricity Has Altered My Body Chemistry.

Nobody Understands Me, I'm Really Sensitive.

I Never Believed That U2 Wanted To Save The Whales. I Don't Believe That The Beastie Boys Are Ready To Lay It Down For Tibet.