You Walk Into The Room Like A

He Did Ten Years In Attica, Reading Nietzsche And Wilhelm Reich.

All The Money You Made Will Never Buy Back Your Soul.

I Was Never A Topical Songwriter.

I'd Been Going Though His Trash. He Knocked Me Down. I Was Glad To See Him, Even Though He Was Banging My Head Against The Sidewalk. Afterwards These Bums Come Over And Say, 'did He Get Much Money?' I Say, 'money'? That Was Bob Dylan.

When Blackness Was A Virtue And The Road Was Full Of Mud, I Came In From The Wilderness, A Creature Void Of Form.