Blue on Black.

Sometimes it just happens driving home from work. A blues song will come on rxp (New York's rock experience) and it sounds familiar enough for me to turn it up a little bit. The the memories come like an exploding volcano of my subconscious. Stand up CD player. Lake house. Motorcycle. Pain. Within about 45 seconds I'm crying. My heart is so wide open that the lava is excruciating- splattering over the most sympathetic part of me. You're still here but part of you is gone. The torment of knowing someday you'll die. And the pain will be exponentially agonizing. I'm saved when the song is over. Commercials and I'm home.