There Is No Answer. It's

Don’t Complain, Don’t Explain.

Honey, No Offense, But Sometimes I Think I Could Shoot You And Watch You Kick.

I Could Hear My Heart Beating. I Could Hear Everyone's Heart. I Could Hear The Human Noise We Sat There Making, Not One Of Us Moving, Not Even When The Room Went Dark.

Art Doesn't Have To Do Anything. It Just Has To Be There For The Fierce Pleasure We Take In Doing It.

That's All We Have, Finally, The Words, And They Had Better Be The Right Ones.