I just want all of you frivolous and whimsical bastards to know that, despite an afterlife spent visiting and haunting the various taverns, greasy spoons, performance venues, Greyhound Bus Stations, whorehouses, and Steve Earle's condominium, I still have time to occasionally haunt the Mudcat Cafe and keep an eye on you worthless sons of bitches. And I don't like what I'm seeing.
I don't like the over-analysis of my songs, any more than Picasso would like you creeps overanalyzing his painting, finding Santa Claus taking a leak in the top right corner of the Guernica, or fighting over whether the Man with the Blue Guitar is playing a Guild or a Martin. (Its a goddam Harmony by the way). Anyway, lay off and get a life while there's still time.
Shee-it.