Here come your pride and joy The comic little drunk you call your boy, Making everybody smile - Elliott Smith

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 you in time.

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.

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