I have been working on something till now and having the TV turned on to keep me company. At some point, I heard this song, and I rushed to listened it on the net. Cher Lloyd is not the same. The sounds of the version I recall here (1992) must be recorded in my brain's foldings per the analogical school, because the grooves of the old LP are sown by fire up there, like the furrows of an indelible scar. When I listen to this song, I can hear the crackling of that year, feel the rubbing of my bed sheets where I use to lie, clung to my tape recorder until fallen asleep. If I click my tongue I can taste the potato omelette of any usual dinner time of the day; I can see _I certainly see it now!- the ligth of the desk lamp spilt over the book-crowded room and feel the ascending heat of the -still- communal coal boiler. I can see myself... Light years away.
If there is something new to this memory, which makes it even... better, like the vintage stainglass in today's sun makes the old LP new and fresh, is the sentence I discovered at the beginning of the video clip:
"When shall we meet again?
In thunder, lightning or in rain?
When the hurly-burly's done
When the battle's lost and won".
Oh! The wonderful witches of Macbeth! One has accumulated enough skin to feel the pins and splinters of beauty and normal life falling down. The look hurts but is attractive and magnetic: the water of our heart's lakes, already spilt and leaving, carrying away the memory of the days they were happily joint and embraced.
(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT).
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