| Probability | Text |
|---|
| 100% | Sometimes I question my sanity Me's turned so rough But my heart still raises wild Been on the edge so many times Over the top But somehow I have a fear Got the enhancements Got the Christmas But in the end it's up to me | ▶️ |
| 96% | Sometimes I question my sanity Me's turned so rough But my heart still raises wild Been on the edge so many times Over the top But somehow I have a fear Got the enhancements Got the Christmas But in the end it's up to me | ▶️ |
| 97% | Sometimes the edge of the world is quite empty, except for the blue heron picking her way sure-footed, one long leg after another, at low tide inspecting the eelgrass. She is my secret, and my heart steps high and lightly with her. Sometimes the edge of the world is allied with children, the tide pools untidy with little boats, stone circles, the beach a whole noisy continent of castles. Sometimes the sun gets to going down there, out in the bay, the blue heron is sleeping, and the beach slides out from under us in molten gold and amber and burnished brass, and tips us over into darkness. | ▶️ |
| 99% | Now I'm tired of all those lame-ass, team-ass, prefabricated sorry excuses for singers and musicians. What if you write their own songs? What the world needs now is a musical revolution. We need some rock! We need something that has balls! We need something with substance, depth, something with soul, some edge, some passion, some power! Shit, if it's gonna be mellow, fuck man, it better have something, it better mean something! I'm telling you, you gotta hit them with something hard. You gotta stick them with something limp! Exist, milky, I'm so fucking tired of the shit that I'm hearing on the radio! Radio sucks! The same fucking songs over and over again! | ▶️ |
