Dearly departed.

 The dead cometo call: looking spritelythey bring the best of themselvesstay to talk, the sort of thingsone says in dreams. Here, immersedin life; corroded by the years,it seems that death’sa living dream a time warpof each reality the Wurlitzer turnsits own obscurity. The dead cometo call: they bring messages: ‘’write them downdon’t forget you are the wordsyou leave behind in other’s heads’’. They who arereleased, have their newsongs, not rememberednuance, nor ecliptic tune, but wisdomdearly bought from passingthrough that finalcountry.