My Mouth Is A Womb. My Teeth

I Do A So-called Trip Into Myself: I Sit Down At The Piano And The Melody Might Start To Evolve From My Playing Or Then I Might Start To Sing It.

The Moon Upon The Ocean Is Swept Around In Motion But Without Ever Knowing The Reason For Its Flowing In Motion On The Ocean The Moon Still Keeps On Moving The Waves Still Keep On Waving And I Still Keep On Going

The Spring, Summer, Is Quite A Hectic Time For People In Their Lives, But Then It Comes To Autumn, And To Winter, And You Can't But Help Think Back To The Year That Was, And Then Hopefully Looking Forward To The Year That Is Approaching.

I Am Privileged To Do A Job I Love To Do. I Would Never Change Any Moment From My Life.

There Is No Formula To It Because Writing Every Song, For Me, Is A Little Journey. The First Note Has To Lift You And Make You Go, 'what's This?' You Play C, But Why Is It That One Day It Leads To G And It Didn't Yesterday? I Don't Know. It's Everything. It's The Walk You Take In The Morning, It's The Night Before, The Meeting With People, Landscapes, The Chats, All Of That Evolves In Some Way Into Melody, But I'm Not Sure How It's Going To Happen. I'm Dealing With The Unknown All The Time And That Is Exciting.