I understand now when they say he spoke with a silver tongue. His words flowed from his lips like beads of mercury, mesmerizingly beautiful, but toxic nonetheless.

Because sometimes home
Is not so much a physical space
As much as a psychical place
I felt the way the first nomad
Must've felt the day they
Decided to stay
Home became a person
Love became a man
So to the man that had dreams
Of Duke, alligators & playing God
Please remember her
Don't forget the girl that had dreams of saving the world
Don't forget you were her world

I turned to him and asked "why?" As the record droned on in the background. He opened his eyes and smiled as the tapping of his feet slowed.

"In our final moments there is silence. I fear that final silence." The song began to reach its crescendo and he held out his hands as if he were embracing every note. "So let there always be music."

...And I reached out, like the hands of a clock, uselessly grasping at time; and like a clock, all I could do was tell of it's passing.