Recently, I was suffering from ridiculous allergies, but when I finally recovered I felt better adapted to living in West Virginia. Living in the hills is just so thick and dense that if you aren’t used to it, it feels like trying to eat a whole stick of butter with no bread. There is a sense that your future does not exist and your present can not be changed.
Coupled with that, is the black and purply feeling of death… or more specifically..
1. A black feeling of our human reality being sandwiched between so many other, non-human realities which cannot be understood, much less controlled.
2. A purple feeling that the whole of our life is just a dot in eternity, and even a dot in the larger picture of who we are.
That is my impression anyway, I doubt a single other person would agree with me. But I do think you have to run your furnace hotter here to avoid being swallowed up by feelings of futility and fatalism.
At any rate, this song was inspired by my newfound appreciation for West Virginia. After my allergies, I could see more of the value in accepting life as it is, rather than always trying to sculpt it into a shape of my choice.
may not be real
Pikey what a thing to say
you know that you weren’t raised that way
sometimes I fear
God has left me so alone
a million miles from any home
To walk a road that has no end
The golden hay lies beyond the bend.
But why would we break?
Why would we cry?
In the end it’s only pain
we’ve known it in so many ways
she felt it too
Remember her, that little bird
so soft we never heard a word
A hint of pink behind the door
and in the end a pile of feathers on the floor
Pikey, you know it won’t be long
Take my hand, I can feel their eyes
descending from the bluest skies
My iron bar
Life remember I was your friend
I knew that you had no end
Your fields were filled with golden hay
Three clouds they fly above then slowly drift away.