Life During Wartime
Life During Wartime
Decadence, is the loss of music. It’s all around us like the damp, hanging as lightly as a liar or the shadows of birds. This is a concluding time, and we hurtle down back roads to Wotan’s daughters. We go alone on fools’ errands like kettles steaming in the fog. Such shame, such pristine beginnings. Off we go. Oh the present, that’s nostalgic isn’t it? Tired words push on darkness, entangled fingers slip in the turbulent rhythms of the world. Sight the calm moon. Sing a new world.