Remembering when I was young.
You shone like the sun.
Guitars that wept, growled, plead, and threatened and embraced.
Soundscapes like nothing I’d heard before, or heard since.
Lyrics to instill knowledge you won’t understand for decades.
“You wore out your welcome, with random precision” is still a line that claws at my brain like devine, indulgent vengeance, on an itch you finally manage to scrath
Rick Wright’s otherworldly keyboard work, which after decades of immersion somehow still wasn’t appreciated in it’s subtle magnitude, until after we had lost him.
You changed music for me.
You changed me.
Your welcome never be worn out.
You will shine on.
Thank you.
