We live in the belly of a great rusty beast and harvest our ideas from the cracks between concrete and forest. We humbly except the disorganized chatter and spew and collect it in our brains nurturing it until it gives us a heart beat a melody and a voice. We let it grow slowly until it busts out with all the conviction of a destitute banchee and takes its place among its brothers and sisters. A perfectly preserved translation of us and the world in which we tangle. A thought preserved in music. A song.