How can we ask of anyone?

living in such a world

less conducive to compassion

disease that makes you whine

pitched down that hole

love that would sustain

condition of general amnesty

Meanwhile, I got you,
Your tender words and all the little good they do.
Meanwhile, you got me.
Ain’t no great prize, but at least it comes for free.
It’s an act of conviction, baby, simply holding on,
Keeping forward motion, pretending to be strong.
Listening with all my heart for voices in the wind
That will be singing for us, Baby, when the song begins again.

killing off keyboard players