My songs are pigeons and I am the stunted bell ringer in the tower. I try to nurture them and help them grow. I surround them with electronic devices so that I do not have to remember to feed them. I have programed my machines to feed them while I drink tea and watch you-tube tutorials. I snatch them up and and move though my days. Some of them are so light and frail that the wind catches them and they sail from my grasp, choking out a few breaths and then disappearing. Some of them are strong and they treat me like the clueless parent that I am. I don't know what to do except wake up each morning and hammer obnoxiously through the piano scales. I don't know what to do except climb to the top of my tower and start ringing the bell.
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