badoomm

c}{imps 8 my ears

waves that often crash though each other, meow a rythym guitar, hazy and recollected begins to putter in the mid morning. The howling of the wind grows as the guitar becomes frantic then frenzied in a driven pounding of the upper strings, loosely fretted and heavily overpowered, stifling the moans which return all at once to bid the frustrated guitar goodbye