You Don't Find A Style. A Style

I've Got Nothing Against Daylight. I Don't Live Totally Nocturnally. Only When I Feel Like It. Which Is Most Of The Time.

You Don't Find A Style. A Style Finds You

I Was In Awe Sometimes Listening To Mick Taylor . Everything Was There In His Playing - The Melodic Touch, A Beautiful Sustain And A Way Of Reading A Song.

In Fact, I Take The View That God, In His Infinite Wisdom, Didn't Bother To Spring For Two Joints - Heaven And Hell. They're The Same Place, But Heaven Is When You Get Everything You Want And You Meet Mummy And Daddy And Your Best Friends And You All Have A Hug And A Kiss And Play Your Harps. Hell Is The Same Place - No Fire And Brimstone - But They Just All Pass By And Don't See You. There's Nothing, No Recognition. You're Waving, “it's Me, Your Father,” But You're Invisible. You're On A Cloud, You've Got Your Harp, But You Can't Play With Nobody Because They Don't See You. That's Hell.

Nobody Wants To Get Old, But Nobody Wants To Die Young Either.