My responsibility as an artist is to turn up at the page or the piano or the microphone. The rest is up to God. - Nick Cave

I took her from rags right through to stitches,
Oh baby, tonight we sleep in separate ditches.

Straight in the arms of the city goes Huck,
Down the beckonin' streets of op-po-tunity,
Whistling his favorite river-song...
And a bad-blind nigger at the piano puts a sinister blooo lilt into that sing-a-long,
Huck senses something's wrong!

The moon was turned toward me,
Like a platter made of gold,
My death, it almost bored me,
So often was it told.