An ocean of beat-broken drums. A sky of sorrow-shackled melodies. We know this sound—the blues of life that can cut the juice on our joyful jukebox stomp. Still, the song never remains the same—a cry can become a lullaby reshaping slaughter into laughter; a feud can become a fugue unlocking chained souls in the key of freedom major. Hear the humming, strumming heartstrings in the distance. Someone, somewhere has left a porchlight on for us. Home is where we mend our fractured rhythms. Home is where we sing the vow of wow alive.


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