They Read All The Books, But They

You Know I Used To Be The Back Porch Poet With My Book Of Lines, Always Hoping Knowing All The Time, I'm Probably Never Gonna Find The Perfect Rhyme. . .for Heavier Things

When Autumn Comes, It Doesn't Ask. It Just Walks In, Where It Left You Last. And You Never Know, When It Starts; Until There's Fog Inside The Glass Around Your Summer Heart.

There's A Certain Lack Of Gimmickry To What I Do That Makes People In England Go: 'where's The Thing?

I Love You More Than Songs Can Say, But I Can't Keep Running After Yesterday.

Whenever They Say It Can’t Be Done, Remind Them That They Make A Jellybean That Tastes Exactly Like Popcorn.