Yeah, I suppose the Duke wanted to die with his boots on. Well, buddy, I hope to go out in magenta Jack Purcells singing my heart out. All negative thoughts and negative energy are banished from my beer-bellied temple when the lights shine in my eyes and the sweat rolls over the bushy brows into those eyes.
My sense of love and my search for truth all make sense onstage. For me.
Six nights a week. Four hours a night. Everybody's got his own idea of heaven.
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