There’s something lyrical about an eternal truth. It’s a graceful riff. A free-flowing melody. Light and airy, it floats all around you. And when it lands on your ears, when you hear it for the...

And a ride in a hearse tells us we’re all close to that final cruise . . . when the body dies and we move on. It’s just the body, man. It’s just the body....

Your muse ain’t singin’ on your MTV? Can’t even see him on your HD TV?

I preserve my worldin journals so my children can eat without me

And here’s to the blues, the real blues— where there’s a hint of hope in every cry of desperation.

We start our lives with blues . . . with music. It’s our first language. It’s the rhythm of the womb. It’s your mama’s heartbeat inside your head.

You got infinite channels and limitless rhymes, but the riddles of livin’ stay undefined?

The music echoes in the emptiness. It reminds us where we came from and where we’re bound.