Sometimes I think we songwriters have it made. Our hearts get broken...we write about it, which saves us a shitload in psychiatrist fees...then we get royalty checks in the mail for doing something we'd've done anyway. For me, it's like getting paid to breathe. Not bad work if you can get it.
Goodbye, Little Rock and Roller, p. 100
Friday, January 21, 2011
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment