Somewhere in this favored land… Those are the opening words of the poem’s last stanza. But there is no joy and the band is playing this.
Do listen. It’s a simple piece and exactly captures the mood I’m in after a day spent thinking about what we have done to ourselves here in these Untied States.
Part’s piece captures for me exactly the long, slow, agonied descent into the grave we’ve been digging for ourselves these past few dozen years . The work is almost done, now.
Don’t bother rearranging the deck chairs. The music will soon be over.
Let it be.
( By the way the poem is Casey At the Bat…and he has struck out..or we has as Pogo might have said)