A Lot Of People From The Press

Draft Beer, Not People.

I Was Lingering Out On The Pavement. There Was A Missing Person Inside Of Myself And I Needed To Find Him . . . I Felt Done For, An Empty Burned-out Wreck . . . Wherever I Am, I'm A '60s Troubadour, A Folk-rock Relic, A Wordsmith From Bygone Days, A Fictitious Head Of State From A Place Nobody Knows.

Like The Lion Tears The Flesh Off A Man, So Can A Woman Who Passes Herself Off As A Male.

You Know, Sometimes A Person's Reputation Can Be Far More Colossal Than The Influence Of The Person. I Don't Pay Any Attention To It Anymore.

Well, I Don't Know, But I've Been Told The Streets In Heaven Are Lined With Gold. I Ask You How Things Could Get Much Worse If The Russians Happen To Get Up There First; Wowee! Pretty Scary!