My caravan. Excuse me while I put on my black cloak and fake fangs and frighten the people who put the idea into my mind that I have a caravan.

Painting my door blue and my raincoat bees. I can say that in sign language. Time things on, my life in sound language, long songs that drive and fall and shh and I laugh at your patio and milk and sleep and dial the number again to start another day and another long song, a some sunner day waiting by the by and my hands. I forgot what I was going to say about my hands.

My caravan is on fire, excuse me a while.

Man: Stephen Hill.

Most singer-songwriters write songs to communicate with the people who are living on their shoulders in protest against something, but they can't remember what it is, and they're scared of the insects who have set up home on their shoulders because the insects are obviously protesting against something too, and they probably know what it is, and whatever it is it's probably going to hurt. Stephen Hill isn't one of those.

Website:

http://www.stephenhill.info