Recently a guy was having trouble with his computer. So he unplugs it, takes it out in the alley, pulls out a gun, and shoots it eight times. Coincidentally, that's how Hillary got rid of her emails.
The truth about autobiographical songs, he realized, was that you had to make the present become the past, somehow: you had to take a feeling or a friend or a woman and turn whatever it was into something that was over, so that you could be definitive about it. You had to put it in a glass case and look at it and think about it until it gave up its meaning.