Oh the harsh snarl of guitar strings roaring! Heavenly distensions of our throats! Trousers stiff with dirt and love! Such whoring! Long green slimy nights: we were like stoats.

Worship with fulness of heart the weak memory of heaven! It cannot trace Either your name or your face Nobody knows you're still living.

Marie Farrar: month of birth, April Died in the Meissen penitentiary An unwed mother, judged by the law, she will Show you how all that lives, lives frailly. Y…

And when she was finished they laid her in earth Flowers growing, butterflies juggling over her... She, so light, barely pressed the earth down How much pain i…

I like listening to it just as I like looking at a fuschia drenched with rain.

My music must be an artistic reproduction of human speech in all its finest shades. That is, the sounds of human speech, as the external manifestations of thou…

If you're listening to this song You may think the chords are going wrong But they're not We just wrote it like that