merrily raze of all the things we might sing, why this? why now? you leave the stage and let the crowd become custodians of the moment. we croon a tune we've known since birth. not in a round, but as a mass of amalgamated voices. we wend through wetlands with the blades of our oars and swim downstream when the boat takes on too much water to be trusted. and you, your face wet with something less than sweat and more than mourning, don't breathe a word of what you've heard. no one unwilling to risk drowning to be here would believe it anyway. 260617 what's it to you? who go blather from