She says, ‘The odds are against him, she won't break his heart’

All I want to say is words have failed me many times before

I ran down the road, pants down to my knees, screaming ‘please come help me, that Canadian shaman gave a little too much to me!’ And I'm writing a novel, because it's never been done before

Hеr sister was not much long for this world, she danced as if a dancеr danced, as if she had a body to sustain, as if an audience to entertain

John the Baptist took down to the river on a Friday night. They talked about Mary like a couple of boys with nothing to lose, too scared to try

I see ya, you student debtors, in the watchtower overhead, searchin' for headlights in the driveway, crying ‘Dad, look what they did’

I swore I wouldn't do this, the wine's gone to my head, the ferryman's been stranded, stay with me tonight instead

First time, you let me stay the night despite your own rules, you took off early to go cheat your way through film school, you left a note in your perfect script: ‘Stay as long as you want’ and I haven’t left your bed since

Born the daughter of a comedian, middle of the eighties, someone turn that awful mouth-breathing down, or else

How Benzedrine supposed to address your shoplifting is anybody's guess

I would like to abuse my lungs, smoke everything in sight with every girl I've ever loved, ride around the wreckage on a horse knee-deep in blood

We could be strangers for one night longer

Save the trysts and tumors for tomorrow, ‘cause no one's really better off, no one's really better off alone

Whatever happened to the girl I knew? In the wasteland, come up short and end up on the news

Funny girl, your schedule's pretty crazy, doing interviews for the new live action Cathy. Could you pencil in an industry outsider?

You’re as pretty as a postcard, no thanks to the old man

The wheel is turning from night into day. Everything's in transition, everything must change, but none of us here will ever see the promised land

You're bent over the altar and the neighbors are complaining that the misanthropes next door are probably conceiving a Damien

Heidegger and Sartre, drinking poppy tea; I could've sworn last night I passed out in my van and now these guys are pouring one for me

Fun times in Babylon, that's what I'm counting on