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"Thin Glass Islands on a Clouded Sea"


We stowed our hopes into the brightest of dream clouds
And locked them inside our fathers' wooden ships, cloaked in old shrouds


We struck out across dark waves, straining to make precise of the vague, ancient orders


Searchlights cut the deep
Distract, blindingly


We stare or we sail on


The truth shifts through cracks upon a twisting landscape
While the clock sprouts legs and darts away


Twenty years at sea, and at times it seems we've found it
Penned down and circled on our ragged parchment


Through trial and revision...


Well, we can discern some of the dangerous waters,
but the safe realm seems to elude us


We tried to find firm land but the map was too blurred by red ink


We freeze up or we sail on


It seems the land's thin glass / It seems the trees drink glass


We slip on crack-filled planks
Our minds all draw us blanks


We tried to find the truth, but our ship was too weighed and sinks




"Fallen Shackles of a Weathered Jouster"


"You'll notice about 80% of all the hits that have ever been out in the marketplace --
they follow a traditional song pattern, which is verse, chorus, verse, bridge, chorus, and out."


"We are like Pavlov's dog as listeners."


"And every time you hear a song, look at Billboard and say 'Oh, that's so-and-so and they're chart number 32.'"


"You know how you write better songs? By listening to other people's hits."


"What happens when you get in your car in the morning and you turn on the radio

and there's a new song on there and it's got a 37-second long intro?

You change the station, don't you? You think it's an instrumental song!
What the hell station am I tuned in to here?"


Shackled to a dead horse, long over-beaten
He jousted in the dense fog of the walking comatose
His lance did splinter, now wrought with repairs
But the blunted end has proved more useful


Freedom sparked at dawn's edge



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