Pastoral Genocide


He Said, Here Comes My Ride
February 19, 2009, 7:50 am
Filed under: Music | Tags:

Seventeen years is an impossibly short time. Kid, you had such a long way to go and you had so, so much. But, you slept and you never woke up and I frequently wonder what it is like to be your mother or your father or your sister or your brother. They have you,  though only slightly. The station is non-operational, and oh so heartbreakingly so. We’ll listen and we’ll say: this music, this music will live on forever. This music is really something. We’re detached, we’re of no consequence. The facts are stoic and cold: your music, kid, your music is beautiful and it will live forever. But how can your parents feel that way?  Does your music make them feel lonely, or scared, or wonder why you had to go so far away? To them, is your music a curse? Do they take solace in your voice or does it make them crumble bitterly? You are the part and they are the whole and there is nothing but empty space, everywhere. They had so much, kid.

The Ivoryton Piano Factory

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