Open, Shadowland

A dream to be, eternally
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Open, Shadowland

What's the thing that has come to haunt me
The dream comes alive
Inside the gateway of time
At the dead lake of bitter waters
The future reveals
I see the end of the world

The last time I played in a band was the day we all parted, from a rag a tag group to the best spit and polish military band to a group of boys turned men by common painful memory.

Carrying legacies are never easy; ours was no different, state champions for many years until debarred for improper conduct, it cut both ways. In order to pay the up keep were reduced to playing at church functions and weddings.

Forget the common ad jingles form which we learned our Mozart and Beethoven, we learned the real pieces, from “Ride of the Valkyries”, the duke’s trombone to “Abide with me on a single muted trumpet, we learned to march and swing. The man who taught us all this died watching them march by. A slow march after the bump on the head, the bike wheels spinning their own music, the road on that night lacked only corporal beings.

For his remembrance service we played this song, along with “A Bouquet of Tears”