What was it about Emma?

After all, she's been dead as Caesar all these years. But when she came up in discussion over the crusty Naugahyde of Tommy's livingroom, we all knew exactly who she was and precisely what she had been to each of us. The words followed the guitar line as quickly as they could -- the drums, the bass, and the Gaelic flute dove in and out and around each other in a way reminiscent of a smelly old Harris tweed -- it was all as large as life and twice as natural, but it was the deckled edges of the timbre envelope which called attention to the Gestalt. That, and a good belt of the old aquavita. Click on the button below and listen to our own

You'll need a realplayer to hear Emma, and that can be easily had by clicking on the goldtoned icon below. It's free in the best sense of the word, downloads and installs on the fly (mostly), and will allow you to hear all manner of cool and interesting things.

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Emma

Even now, I cannot say
What disturbs me most
That I cannot recall your face
Or that I cannot lay your ghost

The years have gone, time out of mind
And still sometimes the corner of my eye
Catches on a piece of you
In a stranger's face and I try to remember
How your hands moved or how your hair would fall
The line of your dress or anything at all

You once mattered so much
Now only this is clear
Yours is a name to conjure with
But you will not appear

The days to come spin tangled lines
Down every one I see my figure in a dream
Reaches for a trace of you
In that other world and I try to imagine
How my hands move to bridge the chasm within
Touch your face and weave our history from the wind