The piano is not firewood yet, (but the cold does get cold so) it soon might be that.
Everyone knows it's going to hurt; but at least you'll get hurt trying.
My God, have I mentioned how much I love Prufrock?
I oftentimes wonder how an artist sits in his studio and thinks of concepts:
Concept records (The Wall by Pink Floyd; you know the rest)
or how drunk men become bums with names.
How do people write?
The human heart will always just be red leather, yellow leather.
