“I was the little kid in the big kids’ playground, You know, the dwarf who thinks he’s a giant. I minded my p’s and q’s, I played it cool with the hotheads. I wanted to bear the weight of all sorrow While still following the rules of grammar. I was a goody-goody: I read Maupassant while my schoolmates were busy picking pockets. They told me, ‘Hey, buddy, get with it, Instead of writing out your anger for people who don’t feel it. ’They asked me, ‘In an argument between verb conjugation and a gun, which would win ?’ And today I know how lucky I am to be there and I remember those who gave me a chance. Still in my gut those old wounds, in my head that old hatred, Fanned to new life by a younger breeze… And it’s come to a point where even if I believe art merely stands by and watches cars burning, none are better than those whoget the kids to light the match.”