Bright is the ring of words When the right man rings them, Fair the fall of songs When the singer sings them. Still they are carolled and said - On wings they are carried - After the singer is dead And the maker buried.
I'm competing with everyone, but it's okay because they're not aware. I can't shut that impulse off. And I'm glad, because that impulse keeps me on the treadmill. If I didn't have it, I would be like, "Great! Ten minutes! I'm good. " But if I'm competing, I can see what level someone's on and I can top it.