There was a chance for me to write one song for the section where Elvis sat in his black leather outfit and sang the old hits. At eight oclock the next morning I had written Memories.
The years like great black oxen tread the world and God the herdsman goads them on behind and I am broken by their passing feet.
Being Irish he had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustained him through...
To be born woman is to know - although they do not speak of it at school -...
If suffering brings wisdom I would wish to be less wise.
From your silken hair to your delicate feet you are perfection to me....
Until they put that sand and dirt in my face I will not sit in church all...
God has no religion.
