The handful who truly understood the October tears, remembered sitting mesmerized in that February and somehow knew that things would never be the same. The world was feeding itself on napalm and lies and this magical army of whomever wanted to join took on all the enemies with four chords, harmony, and a few symbolic cymbal crashes.
We had no choice but to choose which path to follow; there was a new magic that was just beyond our fingertips until we held the black discs and gently placed diamond needles into the very veins of each and every song track.
We breathed it, drank it, sang it, drew it, played it, danced to their tunes with our own rhythms, graciously given by gods we didn't quite know how to worship but knew we did. And our souls learned to make room for love, all sorts of love, if we knew enough to listen with much more than just our ears.
The colours of summer made us all believe in Wizards and Sparkles and because we believed we could change the world, we did; because of four timeless entities who touched down on earth long enough to teach what too many never learned, or forgot in the haze, and to anoint the very few who understood the merger of life and music.
Others dutifully bought the shoddy merchandise and dressed carefully in Granny Takes A Trip and The Fool retreads (so much more than just stores to those who peered behind the walls of beads.) Then, so many who really hadn't a clue declared the time over and done and tried to paint over all the rainbows and stars with thick grey indifference
but the handful who truly understood the bloody holes of October kept lanterns of colours swirling in their hearts and minds, ignored the grey and smiled when the reassuring voices poured the familiar litanies into the air. The handful picked up guitars and drumsticks and listened harder, soothed as each lyric heralded some new odd bend in the roadway or the faithful.
Bullets cannot kill, nor even wound magic, and the voice they tried to silence was picked up by a chorus of the faithful, determined to rip away the mourning and remember the clever quip sand the Before Times.
We sang and we wept for the end of an era of innocence, and it became just a little bit harder to believe the long-ago words. But the rhythm never stopped and never will, for those who keep the magic spinning through the airwaves in any way possible.
The band's just on a short break--don't leave your seats.
The music will go on forever, courtesy of the handful who truly understood the October tears and who are soothed by the timeless cadences of notes pulling us back down the magic rabbit holes.
Those who are left with the responsibility to play on must truly love, must find each other and recreate the many Seas, making love while smiling through the recognition of old friends on the turntables.
Do not let your dreams fade--don't be a traitor to the causes, and above all, never be afraid to weep in October while making magic.