... We're Living In A Machiavellian World,

May You Have A Strong Foundation When The Winds Of Change Shift...and May You Be Forever Young.

They Can't Hurt Me. Sure, They Can Crush You And Kill You. They Can Lay You Out On 42nd And Broadway And Put Hoses On You And Flush You In The Sewers And Put You On The Subway And Carry You Out To Coney Island And Bury You On The Ferris Wheel. But I Refuse To Sit Here And Worry About Dying.

Mothers Tell Your Children Not To Do The Things I Have Done, To Spend My Life In Sin And Misery In The House Of The Rising Sun.

Somebody Had To Be Bob Dylan. I Guess I Was Best Equipped To Do The Job.

Night Can Swallow You Up, Yet None Of It Touches You. Around Any Corner, There's A Promise Of Something Daring And Ideal And Things Are Just Getting Going. There's Something Obscenely Joyful Behind Every Door, Either That Or Somebody Crying With Their Head In In Their Hands. A Lazy Rhythm Looms In The Dreamy Air And The Atmosphere Pulsates With Bygone Duels, Past-life Romance, Comrades Requesting Comrades To Aid Them In Some Way. You Can't See It, But You Know It's There