There Seem To Be A Lot Of

They're The Salt Of The Earth, Those Girls. They Don't Sit Each Night And Compare Notes On Groups, Criticising Lyrics, Asking If It's Valid. They Just Play The Record... Yeah, And Maybe They Dance. I Love Them. I Love Them Dearly

Fame Puts You There Where Things Are Hollow.

I'm Not Sure That An Art Career Would Have Any Benefit For Me; I'm Not Sure It's What I Want. I Don't Think I Want To Be A Designer-rock Artist.

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.

The Truth Is Of Course Is That There Is No Journey. We Are Arriving And Departing All At The Same Time.