Death again. This
time about dying anonymously, as it were.
A body pops up in the lake with no I.D. or identifying marks and then
gets buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave.
That’s a downer. But maybe
too–given how noisy the song is–it’s about making a joyful noise, in spite
of everything: as in the line:
Rise on angel’s wings
Sing, Sing, Sing
Maybe, in relation to the whole, we all die
anonymously. Sure, we all have a smaller
social circle. But just beyond that the
circle spreads out to those other people we may even share a few moments but pass
by generally in our daily rounds. I
noticed, one day, at this place where I worked out, that an older guy, who was
usually there all the time, had not been there for some time. So I asked another guy if he knew anything
about that guy. “That guy,”
because I couldn’t remember that guy’s name.
I indicated where that guy usually sat and said that I thought he was
from Wisconsin and had worked for Sears.
And the guy says, “Oh that guy.
He died I think.”
So I worked for a while on a song called “That
Guy. You know, that guy.” But I never finished it.