Nick Cave and Warren Ellis - Falling
(the piano darts, like a horse's soft hoofclaps on dewy grass. like early dawn still hanging among horizons. obscured by mist.
once more a sense of purpose. movement on the grass. to go forward.
the air feels cold, moist.
when the violin sets in. a stringing wind that cuts through clothes and bones. it's not there to unsettle, it's not there to support. it's only there, never to mourn.
and the falling, not of the day, or the moment, but the music, the hours. the lines all downward, crisscrossing, intersecting, all toward the grass, down like lost leaves.
never the rhythm is abandoned, never the movement stopped. the hoofclaps resume. the grass allows.
what is that purpose, so early in the morning.)