Masters Of The Bluff And Masters Of

I'm Mortified To Be On The Stage, But Then Again, It's The Only Place Where I'm Happy.

Come You Masters Of War You That Build All The Guns You That Build The Death Planes You That Build The Big Bombs You That Hide Behind Walls You That Hide Behind Desks I Just Want You To Know I Can See Through Your Masks.

"subterranean Homesick Blues" [of Bob Dylan] Captures, In Word-salad Format, Life In An Encroaching Police State.

Take Me Disappearing, Through The Smoke Rings Of My Mind, Down The Foggy Ruins Of Time.

Some Of The Old Folk Singers Used To Phrase Things In An Interesting Way, And Then, I Got My Style From Seeing A Lot Of Outdoor-type Poets, Who Would Recite Their Poetry. When You Don't Have A Guitar, You Recite Things Differently, And There Used To Be Quite A Few Poets In The Jazz Clubs, Who Would Recite With A Different Type Of Attitude.