Upon Four-legged Forest Clouds The Cowboy Angel

Crimson Flames Tied Through My Ears Rolling High And Mighty Traps, Pounced With Fire On Flaming Roads Using Ideas As My Maps.

Lay Down The Song You Strum, And Rest Yourself 'neath The Strength Of Strings No Voice Can Hope To Hum.

You Can Have Your Youth It'll Rot Before Your Eyes

How Many A Year Has Passed And Gone And Many Gamble Has Been Lost And Won, And Many A Road Taken By A Friend And Each One I've Never Seen Again.

You Have To Look At Every One Of Your Songs And Be Able To Identify With Them In A Meaningful Way. You Can Hardly Sing Your Songs Unless You're In Them. If You Want To Fake It, Go Ahead. Fake It If You Want. But I'm Not That Kind Of Singer.