Testo: Million Dead. The Eddison Address.

i have never taken for granted the science behind sound. where's the equation behind hendrix sending his rumbles through the crowd? because music dwells not solely in the realm of cold hard fact - the 70's punk explosion and stravinsky riots attest to that. yes, our art the great leveller, i have always felt. unharnessed, not in the temples but in the flood plains have we dwelt. solomon's song a shadow without his voice and zither player, the apocalypse a sham without guitar, bass, drums and slayer. and what of this snare drum riccochet? does it have the same soundwave pattern as the shot that killed jfk? and what of these basslines like tsunami through the ocean, or the shimmer of acoustica that set the hippy kids in motion? what of that? my question remains unanswered, hanging, pensive, unanswered. and what of this guitar? an expression of defiance of a broken record: the pervasion of science? and what of my words, this luddite rallying call? have they little to teach us? maybe nothing at all. and what of this snare drum assassinatioon reverberation? the sound of an insurrection versus populist elation... dearest eddison, you cannot capture or subdue our oscillations without destroying what we do (and let's not forget that you hear this through the wax of irony). yes, from city spires to underground, hands on earpieces will never hold this down.