My Parents Told Me I Must Get

The Way I See It, There's Only One Melody For Any Song.

The Clock Never Stops, Never Stops, Never Waits. We're Growing Old. It's Getting Late.

Next Door, There's An Old Man Who Lived To His Nineties And One Day Passed Away In His Sleep. And His Wife, She Stayed For A Couple Of Days And Passed Away. I'm Sorry, I Know That's A Strange Way To Tell You That I Know We Belong.

It's A Tough Thing To Know That When You're Making Your Album, You're Going To End Up Collaborating With, Say, Wal-mart, On Your Artwork. That Just Sucks. And The Pressure Behind Getting The Numbers Real Fast Is, To Me, Dizzying.

My Job Is To Be Some Sort Of Music/lyric Psychic, To Figure Out That That's The Right Song To Not Fight The Lyric.