There goes the last DJ, who plays what he wants to play and says what he wants to say 'Hey, hey, hey,' there goes your freedom of choice. There goes the last human voice. There goes the last DJ.

One more night, God I've had to fight to keep my line of sight on what's real. One more day, I fear I've lost my way, I don't know how to say what I feel.

As we celebrate mediocrity, all the boys upstairs want to see how much you'll pay for what you used to get for free.

Oh my love if I reveal every secret I've concealed, how many thoughts would you steal, how much of my pain would you feel?

I can never consent to being dictated to.

Don't tell me that man doesn't belong out there. Man belongs wherever he wants to go - and he'll do plenty well when he gets there.

Though the Negroes are fed, clothed, and housed, and though the Irish peasant is starved, naked, and roofless, the bare name of freemen-the lordship over his o…