I am full of all kinds of beautiful songs that God sends to me in my dreams. They flutter within me long enough for me to get them out of me and onto an album, so I can fling them out into the world by any means necessary. The better I get at playing instruments, the easier it is to get those songs out of me. The thing is, they were there when all I had was my voice and a tape recorder. Thank God.
This is what it feels like when I sing -- ever blooming, ever exploding, in everlasting technicolor.
Flowers have their own language. I instinctively embraced the peony awhile ago, as it turns out, with good reason.
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