Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought.

No matter how much I probe and prodI cannot quite believe in God,But, oh, I hope to God that HeUnswervingly believes in me.

April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom, holiday tables under the trees.

Leave the atom alone.

Say, it's only a paper moon, / Sailing over a cardboard sea.

You're paid to stop a bullet.It's a soldier's job, they say.And so you stop your bullet,And then they stop your pay.

'For what we are about to receive, Oh Lord 'tis Thee we thank,' said the cannibal as he cut a slice off the missionary's shank.