Give Me Spots On My Apples, But

I Conceived In Art College At The Age Of 20, Near The End Of Term.

Oh It Gets So Lonely When You're Walking And The Streets Are Full Of Strangers

An Artist Needs A Certain Amount Of Turmoil And Confusion.

An Unhappy Mother Does Not Raise A Happy Child.

And The Seasons They Go 'round And 'round And The Painted Ponies Go Up And Down We're Captive On The Carousel Of Time We Can't Return We Can Only Look Behind From Where We Came And Go Round And Round And Round In The Circle Game.