The first line of this tune I wrote was:

​

My smarts have gone dumb,

Last I’d seen them in a broken bottle of rum,

With that rotten taste still on my tongue I yell,

Well in this life, the dead don’t belong

 

I was a few to many into a deep philosophical conversation. The best thoughts were coming. Flowing. We were figuring things out. We were mindful. We were thinkers. Then we woke up. Thinking hurts in the morning.