The Sky Was Yellow And The Sun

Sometimes We Live No Particular Way But Our Own

Wake Up To Find Out That You Are The Eyes Of The World, But The Heart Has Its Beaches, Its Homeland, And Thoughts Of Its Own. Wake Now, Discover That You Are The Song That The Morning Brings, But The Heart Has Its Seasons Its Evenings, And Songs Of Its Own

Without Love In A Dream It Will Never Come True

I Feel I've Got 10 Books In Me.

Every Song Falls Short Of The Glory Of What A Song Could Be. That's Why The Urge Is There To Start Again And Yet Again. Often It's The Fault Of Rhyme. I've Discovered A Hundred Times That There Just Aren't Enough Rhymes To Say What I Wanted To Say, So I Said Something Else Instead. Sometimes It Was A Better Thing, But The Thing I Meant To Say Went Unsaid. So There's An Opening For Another Song.