I’ve always said go out with a song.
Let it be the last taste in their mouth
the culmination of the experience.
This one’s a little bit wordy but
so are some of the epics of Bob Dylan
and he just won a Nobel Prize
so what do I know?
If you’ve been reading, you know the
answer to that is very little.
I’m going to have to read this
whole thing again. I’m going to have
to memorize the words to this
song, figure out how to play it on guitar
so I can teach it to the Jewish ears of
the San Fernando Valley.
Maybe not the whole thing
at once. Just a little bit every week.
I’ll put the words in front of them.
No-one has to know it by heart.
They just have to sing it. The verses
of our triumphs and transgressions.
The stories of everyone who came
before us. The ones we name our
children after. The ones whose
names our American mouths
could never properly pronounce.
This is our song.
Our story and anthem.
Our melody which, now that I
think of it, I have been singing
bits and pieces of since the
moment I wandered into that
first room with my guitar.
I finally know what I’ve been
entrusted with. I’m going to keep
doing this until it’s my turn
to wander up the mountain
and get a glimpse of the future
I’ll never know.
I’m putting this track on auto-repeat.
These days, no-one has heard of the
rewind button. But rest assured.
We’re going to hear this again.