Who has a say on how the way things should be?

This one kept my head up for a time. Happened across it, NPR probably, it burned through a haze, sun in fog.

Everything is set in motion, and then it's set again, and again. Pain burns away what doesn't matter. God damn, that match hurts when you'e holding it, but, later, it's a charred tip of wood or paper, it's an ash, it's the imprint of fire that gave light to something bigger and that has a purpose.

It will come back to you

I am thankful for the songs that, when I hear them, I am thankful for that and every time that I hear them. The blush never fades from its sonic rose, the seven-year itch never prickles, the metaphors never turn cliche.

This is one of those songs:



The first strains send me back to the PCH; the rest is just pure joy.

And this beneficence has a bonus, to boot!