There it is! That old music. ramblin, rambunctious disaster waiting to happen. Always at the precipice of total collapse...oh wait..maybe that's me I'm thinking of? There it is!! That old music lining itself up in bars to fill it's cup and slake it's awful thirst, leaving behind notes for you to read, clues that lead you to believe that you  might catch up. Yet you will always be chasing it right to the end. Oh, that's you I'm thinking of isn't it? Ah. There it is for sure this time, that old music, starting and stopping and starting over and over again to the point of madness. rising to quick crescendos then plummeting again into the valleys of silence in which it nests. Waaait..that's us I'm thinking of. Damn it.

Where is that Old Mystic, music? That shaman that hides in the shadows of animalistic, cavemen pounding on the stretched skins of their dinner urges? The inner feeling that G, C, D, E can instill in the most simple progressions, and the most complex of structures. Is that where to find it? Or can I find it in this? In you, in me, in all of us. It's moved like a symphony since we started, Is this the tragic end? Or does the reprisal begin soon, and the chorus ascend to the sky? And where the hell is that old music!?

Is it in the rundown hallways of Heartbreak Hotel? In the Lizard King dancing for the starlight on top of the cars in the streets that stole it from him? In the cool black specter of Death blowing his trumpet to signal the end is very very nigh? Or does that old music elude them too? Are they just following the notes left on bars, clues to finding  out that the end that is the greatest secret ruse? well, you are my trumpet. baby, and the end is very fucking
nigh