I Hang My Laundry On The Line

Sex Sells Everything And Sex Kills.

In Some Ways, My Gift For Music And Writing Was Born Out Of Tragedy, Really, And Loss.

Yesterday A Child Came Out To Wonder Caught A Dragonfly Inside A Jar Fearful When The Sky Was Full Of Thunder And Tearful At The Falling Of A Star

And The Seasons They Go 'round And 'round And The Painted Ponies Go Up And Down We're Captive On The Carousel Of Time We Can't Return We Can Only Look Behind From Where We Came And Go Round And Round And Round In The Circle Game.

I See Music As Fluid Architecture.