We came into the same city, a place given; you my uncle Philip first, me, twenty three years later. I was the round-faced curly-locked little zombie-walker, bumping my way around and between the tree-trunk legs of the other grownups at your 'going away…

There's something wrong with being so right, my dear. You turned non-conformity into conformity. You used the light in music's presence to blind the love in their hearts with freezing coldness. You ran out of human kindness long before you…