I'm a junkyard full of false starts And I don't need your permission To bury my love under this bare light bulb. The moon is a sickle cell It'll kill… - Elliott Smith

[when asked about cigarettes] I don't recommend them... but I smoke them.

Your hand on his arm, the hay stack charm around your neck, strung out and thin, calling some friend trying to cash some check, he's acting dumb, that's what you've come to expect. * I can't beat myself
I can't beat myself
And I don't want to talk.
I'm taking the cure so I can be quiet
Whenever I want.
So leave me alone
You ought to be proud that I'm getting good marks.

Next door, the TV's flashing
blue frames on the wall.
It's a comedy from the seventies
with a lead no one recalls.
He vanished into oblivion
it's easy to do
and I cried a sea when you talked to me
the day you said we were through.
But it's all right, some enchanted night
I'll be with you