Someday We'll All Be Gone,

It's Nine O'clock On A Saturday, The Regular Crowd Shuffles In / There's An Old Man Sitting Next To Me Making Love To His Tonic And Gin / He Says, 'son, Can You Play Me A Memory?/ I'm Not Really Sure How It Goes / But It's Sad And It's Sweet, And I Knew It Complete When I Wore A Younger Man's Clothes.'

I Look At Some Of The Songs I Wrote Years Ago And I Can't Believe I Wrote Such Crap.

I'm Writing New Music All The Time. I'm Just Not Writing Pop Stuff. It's Not My Goal.

Though You Can See When You're Wrong, You Know You Can't Always See When You're Right.

I Believe There Is A Time For Meditation In Cathedrals Of Our Own.