I’ve been thinking about death and loss lately. Specifically, I was thinking about Neil Peart. And how his friends and bandmates must feel. Especially Geddy. His voice has sung, for decades, words put there by Neil. How must that feel? To have a portion of your voice… gone?
And I can kind of understand. I’m missing a piece of my own voice these days, a dry sarcasm that would point out my stupidity, and sometimes add its own dumb ideas. Over a year now. I miss you Twitch. You were part of me, and I still feel you there.
And it made me think of phantom limbs, that feeling of something gone, but still there. People, friends, family, as a part of ourselves. So… I wrote a song
The man who lost his hand to the cannery blade,
Still can feel the tickle of his five fingered shade,
A bomb blast leaves the soldier sitting in a chair,
Late at night she could swear that her legs are still there.
Phantom Pains from what we’ve left behind,
Phantom Fears they’re only in our mind,
Phantom Pieces that we never find,
When they’re gone.
A clot bursts, tissue thirsts, deep within a friend’s brain,
No more hugs, pull the plugs, release him from your pain,
Sometimes you hear his voice, greeting you by name,
A vital piece of you will never feel the same.
You feel him at your side,
hear his words wry and snide,
You turn to him in pride,
Empty chair where he sat,
Makes you lose your stride.
Phantom Pains from who we’ve left behind,
Phantom Fears live only in our mind,
Phantom Pieces that we never find,
When they’re gone.
More than a hand or leg, my friends are a part of me,
No matter how I beg, Time will not let them be,
My words feel hollow now, without your counterpoint,
My soul is borrowed now, no more beats to anoint
You wrote the song I sang,
With my strings, bells you rang,
Backing me up from behind,
I fear to turn and find…
The empty swivel chair,
Still I feel you there.
Phantom Pains from who we’ve left behind,
Phantom Tears they live in our mind,
Phantom People that we’ll never find,
When they’re gone.
When they’re gone.