I wrote this song in ’92 or 3 for Bernie Bernie Headflap’s first fanboy. Harry, wherever you are, man, thanks.

Harry spun in circles on the floor
Slid glasses down wet nose
With eyelids almost closed

He’d see it all much more clearly
Than we could prophesy* in frequencies
Sounding syllables from black boxes
We’d thought we’d never heard before

Rubbed at eyes since coming in
Scraped lid-skin much too thin
With fingers trembling

Like they’ve not known this note before
Straining to reach the next semaphore
Lost in smoke from the atmosphere
Worse his antihistimine’s kicked in again

Set his mind toward turbulence
Ushered up the mosh-cockpit
The ground’s around here isn’t it

Like flying some concord jet
Eyes closed to up-rushing wet pavement
Lost in smoke from the atmosphere
Thick with sounds only he could hear

* It was Al who pointed out my original lyric “prophecize” wasn’t a word and that “prophesy” was correct.

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