She Asked For My Love And I

The Only Real Failure Is Trying To Second-guess The Taste Of An Audience. Nothing Comes Out Of That Except A Kind Of Inward Humiliation.

I Don't Live For The Stage. I Don't Live For An Audience.

When I'm Stuck For A Closing To A Lyric, I Will Drag Out My Last Resort: Overwhelming Illogic.

I'm A Phallus In Pigtails, And There's Blood On My Nose, And My Tissue Is Rotting Where The Rats Chew My Bones. And My Eye Sockets Empty, See Nothing But Pain, I Keep Having This Brainstorm About Twelve Times A Day.

I Think The First Song I Ever Wrote ... Was Called "can't Help Thinking About Me." That's An Illuminating Little Piece, Isn't It?