These days I keep a journal, so I'm constantly sketching down my thoughts, or lines that come to me...ideas for songs. And then when I have a moment to myself, I'll sit down with my guitar and open my journal, and start kind of massaging things together, and see if a song takes shape. Or sometimes, I'll just be hanging out with my guitar and come up with a chord progression or a lick, and that'll sort of sit around for a while waiting to marry itself to some words. So it's sort of haphazard and it's like...junk culture. I go around finding shiny objects and I glue them together laughs.
The old farm roads a four lane that leads to the mall, and our dreams are all guillotines waiting to fall.
For every hand extended another lies in wait. Keep your eye on that one girl...anticipate.
I've been waiting for sleep to offer up the day with both hands.
While out in TV Nation, under darkening skies, the resistance is just waiting to be organized.
I can't wait to get back to New York City where at least when I walk down the streat, no one ever hesitates to tell me exactly what they think of me.
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