…Or maybe it was the sound of a disillusioned future heading us off at the past that awoke me at 4 AM. Or perhaps it was the wailing of lamenting seas down on their knees, crying humanity a river. Or the sudden woosh of hot air being let out of way too many inflated egos. Or the boom-boom-crash of drunken drums and cymbals duking it out after a rowdy after-hours punk gig. Or a headwind of sly kisses hitting the hot skillet of greasy-good love. Or maybe it was the sounds of this old earth, grinding on the same gears its been spinning on for millions of years. Leaning its exhausted heft into us; the world still somehow managing, after all these years, to sing like an angel.