The Vultures are Circling, Sound the Alarm
Ever had a song in your head for which there was no cure? The kind of song that, though it exists, doesn't exist recorded so all you've got is these faint strains playing against memory?
There's a moral lesson in here, somewhere, about man and his place in the Universe. About the shape and sound and feel of regret, and the inevitability of sorrow that accompanies only being able to travel time in one direction. I am going to try and ignore it.
Happy Birthday,
lockholm