Think we'll do another one of those.
[LAUGHTER]
Aren't I good?
[LAUGHTER]
That's just so beautiful.
This is an old one.
This is a little one called "Wake."
Again, listen to the language and think--
first, the music.
What would that-- what does that sound like?
Who wrote the music to this one?
You did, Greg?
Yeah.
What would you do?
"Clear stars.
A foam on a black wave.
A cold night.
We step from the old porch by ones and twos,
over yards burned blue by ice during the viewing.
How quickly the family turns to itself with grief.
And how torn away, ice flecks in the cones
of each car's headlamps, pulling out on the journey.
So soon the city, the trees, gone by in a blur.
We are part and parcel of a Great Recession.
Souls in sequence, bearing our dead on our backs.
Like relic radiation from creation's first blaze.
Each of us flung off like froth scorching
to ice down the long highway, out of darkness,
into the dark."