Where is it that our dreams go to die?  And why do we never take notice of when they leave?  It's just like you wake up one day asking yourself, "whatever happened to what I wanted to be/do/love/etc."  It's an empty feeling when it hits you, like blankets of snow on a warm day.

"And why do we crucify ourselves?  Everyday I crucify myself. My heart's bleeding, my heart's bleeding and chains.  I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets, looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets.  Why do I just crucify myself-everyday, I crucify myself."

"Five a.m.  Friday morning, Thursday night, far from sleep.  And I'm still up and driving, can't go home obviously.  So I'll just change direction, 'cause they'll soon know where I live.  And I wanna live, gotta full tank and some chips. Then it's me and a gun, and a man on my back.  And I sang holy, holy as he buttoned down his pants.  Yes I wore a slinky red thing, does that mean I should spread...for you, your father, your friends, Mr. Ed."