Friday, October 8, 2004

It is warm today. But I have a serious case of goosebumps.

There are almost four thousand songs on my iPod now. It's on shuffle, presenting my music in a way that really keeps my attention.

Maybe that is why I felt chills up my spine – really, butterflies in my stomach and all – just now, when Elvis Costello started singing

May be the face I can't forget.
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell

Who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
May be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die

How can music have such a grip on your very soul, shaking it to its core?