I Paint My Joy And I Sing

If I'm Censoring For Anyone, It's For My Parents. They Are Very Old-fashioned And Moral People. They Still Don't Understand Me That Well.

Give Me Spots On My Apples, But Leave Me The Birds And The Bees, Please.

He Saw My Complications And He Mirrored Me Back Simplified, And We Laughed How Our Perfect World Would Always Be Denied.

Once I Got The Open Tunings For Some Reason, I Began To Get The Harmonic Sophistication That I Heard That My Musical Fountain Inside Was Excited By. Once I Got Some Interesting Chords To Play With, My Writing Began To Come.

You Snipe So Steady, You Snub So Snide, So Rip And Ready To Diminish And Deride.