Won’t you help me, my sister Marie? Hope you don’t hold what you see against me. Last six months I’ve been out of control. Things don’t make sense the way that we know. Give me a hand I’d be proud to hold. Took a ride around town last week just to see the blades of grass shining, but all the lawns that I passed had gone dry. I felt the tears return to my eyes. I let the wind come return me to life. Mercenaries camp out at my door, ask me why I don’t want any more, but I could ask that of anyone else. They know the specter at the edge of their health, those creatures swimming way down in the well. Heard that dad won’t talk to you either. He claims the new year hasn’t started yet here. Well he can think what he wants: disregard his words, those notions he caught, disregard all those people he lost. Hold me close, I won’t forget. Please remember you can’t lose my respect. Even though you must think so little of me, hope you can stand me, my sister Marie. Hope you still love me, my sister Marie. I’m still fascinated by fireflies. They imitate a thing that’s barely alive. Birds and trees and the shouting of kids, try to take it all into myself. This room’s an ocean, you’re the continental shelf. So much distance between you and me. Try to swim all the way across the sea. If I feel tired and cold, let that be. I’m so glad you won’t let me leave. Can I sing to you, my sister Marie?
This is the album that has gotten me through the pandemic. It has provided peace when peace was nowhere else to be found. It has provided joy when joy was elusive. It has inspired gratitude when darkness and cynicism have crept in. Thank you Andrew. Polygondwanajams