So I, and we, are now confronted with the strangest of realizations. We who live, we live now in an era of Trump; an era post-Cohen. I can barely stand it. What a horrific moment.
If love is truly the only engine of survival, then we must tend to its maintenance now, now more than ever. Else it seize up, and lock down.
I love you, friends. I love you, my enemies. We are all bound to the same whirling star. So let’s work it out. Let’s take each other down a thousand kisses deep and see what we see.
I took it for granted, L. I thought you might tough it out as long as I needed. Well, that was a silliness. Go on, then. Sleep. You earned it. If mercy is what you described, then we will meet in that realm beyond. There, we will raise glasses of whiskey to something good, and we will embrace as I have dreamed.
Goodnight, songwriter. I will miss you.