Well, The Moral Of The Story, The

Thinking Of A Series Of Dreams Where The Time And The Tempo Fly And There's No Exit In Any Direction 'cept The One That You Can't See With Your Eyes

You Know, The Streets Are Filled With Vipers Who've Lost All Ray Of Hope You Know, It Ain't Even Safe No More In The Palace Of The Pope

Then Take Me Disappearin' Through The Smoke Rings Of My Mind, Down The Foggy Ruins Of Time, Far Past The Frozen Leaves, The Haunted, Frightened Trees, Out To The Windy Beach, Far From The Twisted Reach Of Crazy Sorrow. Yes, To Dance Beneath The Diamond Sky With One Hand Waving Free, Silhouetted By The Sea, Circled By The Circus Sands, With All Memory And Fate Driven Deep Beneath The Waves, Let Me Forget About Today Until Tomorrow.

My Songs Always Sound A Lot Better In Person Than They Do On The Record.

She's A Hypnotist Collector; You Are A Walking Antique.