Everyone Of Them Words Rang True And

Jewels And Binoculars Hang From The Head Of The Mule.

He Did Ten Years In Attica, Reading Nietzsche And Wilhelm Reich.

All The Tired Horses In The Sun How'm I Supposed To Get Any Ridin' Done? Hmm.

[bob] Dylan's Broken-heart Songs Are So Much Better. Like "simple Twist Of Fate".

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.