Sonny sits by his window and thinks to himself,
How it's strange that some rooms are like cages,
Sonny's yearbook from high school is down from the shelf,
And he idly thumbs through the pages,
Some have died, some have fled from themselves,
On a struggle from here to get there,
Sonny wanders beyond his interior walls,
Runs his hands through his thinning brown hair.

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Moves like a fist through traffic,
Anger and no-one can kill it,
Shoves a little bump to the momentum,
It's just a little lump but you feel it
In the creases and the shadows,
With a rattling deep emotion.
The cool, cool river
Sweeps the wild, wide ocean.

Little kid dancin' in the grass, legs like rubber band.
It's summertime, summertime. There's a line at the candy stand.
Keep an eye on them children, eye on them children in the pool.
You'd better keep an eye on them children, eye on them children in the pool.

[Rock 'n' roll] really is not given to thinking — and resents thinking. Which I believe is the big error of rock 'n' roll. It's always aspired to be the music of the working class. And it's never been looked upon as a vocabulary for art and artistic thinking... We have to be able to expand the vocabulary to express more complex thoughts.