So I'm not very popular here with those inside the system, as you might guess. I never wanted to be.
The Hank Williams Syndrome: Come to Nashville, write some good songs, cut some hit records, make money, take all the drugs you can and drink all you can, become a wild man and all of a sudden die.
Listening to his songs she heard nothing but bad news, still she made her mind up to try to get him win or lose.
His songs were soon curled on the lips of the world, they had earned him the highest acclaim. And yet his greatest desire was the simple warmth of love's fire, cause it's cold on the dark side of fame.
I never have any problem getting enthusiastic with a good song and a good band.
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