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| Wreckage of Our Lives was written in Paris. I was wandering the streets,
looking at the marvelous architecture, sculptures, and marble facades, and thinking about the
permanent quality of the things we humans build, versus the temporary quality of humans themselves.
All in all, Paris is a beautiful city. Paris doesn't want you to see what's behind her carved marble
mask; thin streets with black gutters like trailing wisps of cigarette smoke. She has a cold, stone
regard. The centuries passing her by have left their mark on her features. Paris looks upon your
short span of time in this world and gives you only the gutters of her attention.
It's bound to make you lonely, wandering through the 'City of Lovers' by yourself. It's bound to
make you consider your finite place in the universe, far more fleeting than stone. And it's also
easy to imagine, faced with those empty marble eyes, that God, too, no longer sees our pain. Thus, Wreckage was written.
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| Here is a rough of Wreckage of Our Lives, sung and played by yours truly. | ||
| Wreckage of Our Lives Thunder rumbles 'cross the moon Chorus: I hear the summons and I go Chorus. I count the number of my sins Chorus. Smothering, we gasp for breath |
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| All words and music are copyright 2010, and are sole property of the artist. Please do not reproduce in any fashion without written and explicit permission. |
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