This track from Steven Wilson, the genius behind Porcupine Tree and the King of Prog Rock, is technically fascinating, melodically captivating, and so beautifully sad lyrically in such few words that it had to wind up as a song of the day at some point.
"Here we all are
Born into a struggle
To come so far
But end up returning to dust
Oxfam panache tips his hat
(Laces undone)
He has no truck with idle chat
(Work to be done)
The songs he learned from scratched LP's
Stops in mid-flow to sip his tea
He strums the chords with less than grace
(Songs we all know)
Each passing year etched on his face
(Sun, rain or snow)
The words he sings are not his own
They speak of things he'll never know"
-TRO
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