I've Gone Back In Time To When

The Bitter Dregs Of Fortune's Cup To Drain.

And By The Sacred Parchment, I Swear That If I Reveal The Secrets Of The Stonecutters, May My Stomach Become Bloated And My Head Be Plucked Of All But Three Hairs

I've Finally Tapped Into That Spirit Of Self-destruction That Makes Rock-n-roll The King Of Music!

The Generation Of Mankind Is Like The Generation Of Leaves. The Wind Scatters The Leaves On The Ground, But The Living Tree Burgeons With Leaves Again In The Spring.

I Only Hope Those Rumors I Hear About What Goes On In Prison Are Greatly Exaggerated.