Now All That Remains

(is their love for you, brother)

Woke up this morning, came downstairs, and shuffled out into the rain. Picked up my paper, brought it back inside, and spread it open on the kitchen table. Staring back at me was a photo by Mark Wilson of Getty Images — not the one below, but another from the same shoot — of the remains of a young soldier from Michigan coming home to Andrews Air Force yesterday.



Took Wendy to work and the boys to school, came home and showered, got dressed and back in the car. Headed for work, fired up the iPod, and hit Shuffle. Roaring back at me was a song by Bruce Springsteen, so sad and bitter and fitting for the morning that it’s like he, or at least the hard drive, could read my mind and see the image still hanging upon it.

This, in a week when I’ve already offered a work from another of my idols and influences, and when I've spent a lot of time thinking about life and love and hope and death, seemed worth sharing with you.

I would tell you to enjoy, but today, that’s not the point...  

GYPSY BIKER
Bruce Springsteen

The speculators made their money
On the blood you shed
Your Mama's pulled the sheets up off your bed
The profiteers on Jane Street
Sold your shoes and clothes
Ain't nobody talking 'cause everybody knows
We pulled your cycle out of the garage
And polished up the chrome
Our Gypsy biker's comin' home

Sister Mary sits with your colors
Brother John is drunk and gone
This whole town's been rousted
Which side are you on
The favored march up over the hill
In some fools parade
Shoutin' victory for the righteous
But there ain't much here but graves
Ain't nobody talkin'
We're just waitin' on the phone
Our Gypsy biker is comin' home

We rode her into the foothills
Bobby brought the gasoline
We stood 'round her in a circle
As she lit up the ravine
The spring high desert wind
Rushed down on us all the way back home

To the dead it don't matter much
'Bout who's wrong or right
You asked me that question, I didn't get it right
You slipped into your darkness
Now all that remains
Is my love for you brother
Lying still and unchanged
To them that threw you away
You ain't nothin' but gone
Our Gypsy biker is comin' home

Now I'm out countin' white lines
Countin' white lines and getting stoned
My Gypsy biker is coming home.