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On the side of a hill in the deep forest green, tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground,
blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves washes the grave with silvery tears,
a soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions, generals order their soldiers to kill
and to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten

Thursday, March 29, 2012

That hollow, empty sound that rests in the valley

The vast majority of people swim with the flow through the river of life. Some perturb the waters and create ripples, some widen the bank, some even swim against the flow. And then there are those few who cut whole new channels. Earl Scruggs was one of those last people. Most modern US banjo players play Scruggs Style. The world is a little less rich because one of the giants has fallen. At least we have his music. If all you know is Foggy Mountain Breakdown or the Ballad of Jed Clampett, that's a pity.



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