This was the last song written for the album. I wrote it during the fall of 1992 when the political climate looked so dark and forbidding. Nice to know there are some constants in our ever changing world.

This was my only attempt to actually try to sound like someone else - at least during the writing. Luckily for me and the source of my attempt, it didn't really turn out to sound like who I was aiming at. Cool.

I supposed since you've read this far, I'll let you in on the only real joke on the album. I knew that I was going to go a bit nuts at the end with the unresolved build up to the final chord. So I did it. Yup: I threw in the kitchen sink. The rather warm, almost rain like sound that comes up just after the build up starts, is my kitchen garbage disposal, pitch shifted up to somewhere that sounded to me like it would fit with an Am9-7 chord.


And yes - those are not crickets. They are samba whistles played by highly trained and over paid crickets. Don't mess with the cricket union.

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