Sting reckons he can get it up.   

The last time I saw Dylan he had resorted to talking the lyrics a la Capt Kirk. The musical equivalent of having to have a wank in the corner.

Mind you, Tempest is up there. ...




Sorry, your point? Akenaton thinks I am a male version of Harriet Harman and you think errr. . Buggered if I know.   The good professor is confused too, but being a greyhound that isn't difficult.

Clever songs describe ideals nobody can achieve and vices that don't describe a whole person.