You Have To Use Fantasy To Show

White Collar Conservative Flashin' Down The Street, Pointing That Plastic Finger At Me, Hoping Soon My Kind Will Drop And Die, But I'm Gonna Wave My Freak Flag High.

After Awhile, Your, Your Cheap Talk Don't Even Cause Me Pain, So Let Your Bullets Fly Like Rain.

Telephone Message On His Manager's Answering Machine Shortly Before Dying Of Heroin Overdose: I Need Help Bad, Man.

I'd Like To Get Something Together - Like A Handel, Bach, Muddy Waters, Flamenco Type Of Thing. If I Could Get That Sound, I'd Be Happy

My Sons And Their Wives Landed On Mars To Start Another Race.