Ever notice—whenever you're
sure you've got
sure you've got
something worth saving,
it's because you can sense that it
won't be sticking
around for much longer?
It's like trying to savor
a frosty, tall chocolate malt
without watching it
melt away into thick milk
a frosty, tall chocolate malt
without watching it
melt away into thick milk
on a soft, July night—
or the happy desperation,
or the happy desperation,
of a big group of people
all singing along
all singing along
to this summer's
biggest radio song
at an all-night party
on the back lawn;
when the lyrics
consist only
at an all-night party
on the back lawn;
when the lyrics
consist only
of the track's total run-time
counting down to zero,
counting down to zero,
sung one half-decibel
more quietly each second—
and the underlying chords contain
every single melody line
of a universe
more quietly each second—
and the underlying chords contain
every single melody line
of a universe
filled with vibrating strings,
each giving its own self-
centered, independent concert—
all stacked on top of one another,
and each one
just so-happening
to sound out simultaneously
once or twice—giving off
the very temporary
illusion—that none of this
is nonsense.
each giving its own self-
centered, independent concert—
all stacked on top of one another,
and each one
just so-happening
to sound out simultaneously
once or twice—giving off
the very temporary
illusion—that none of this
is nonsense.