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Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves
An echo of a distant time comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine.

And no one called us to the land
And no one knows the where's or why's
Something stirs and something tries
Starts to climb toward the light.


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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