Woorden:
Doucette

I'm a drunkard, I'm a loser, a talker, I'm a dreamer with conquered gray eyes. I'm a young man who sweats out the DT's, there's no love to be made here

It's the Dixie air that keeps us grounded. Kind old sun, feeds magnolias and slows the race down (it can't be won). Out of money, low on on inspiration

An early mid-life crisis looms, and for me to survive it I'll find myself a motorbike, and learn how to ride it. Stop out where the grass is dry and

I was in Woodstock the day Rick Danko died. I climbed up on a barstool beside a perfect stranger and both of us cried. He said he was a guitar man-

Broken records, buzzing flies, empty bottles. Graphic evidence of a war as it heals. Scratch the itch, pick the scab, don't let it seal. This is a martyr

We move like cagey tigers We couldn't get closer than this The way we walk The way we talk The way we stalk The way we kiss We slip through the streets

Young men steal away with unprotected fruit. Dirt up in the face of the complacent. The rule of the hunter is to see himself as prey. Never leave the