So many roads lead to struggling, stinging, sinking still deeper into forever dark places. One day after another, a blindfold over the eyes while time’s firing squad takes aim at our sense of calm. Highway hypnosis grabs hold of us as truth and dignity slip away in the rearview mirror. As we approach calamity’s city limits, listen to the hungry wolves wail, “Safety.” Listen to the floating clouds whisper, “Gravity.” In a world where little is what it claims to be, true love is one of life‘s last jukeboxes. Hear my song: Baby, hold these cold hands to feel my warm and woolly heart.