She tied you to her kitchen chairI would rather be blind than deaf.
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Lying on the floor in the dark this morning protected from the torrential rains, I've actually got a studio version of Lochlan playing Hallelujah and singing along. He sounds nothing like Jeff Buckley. His voice is softer and more clipped. Deeper. Slower. Accent in force. Guitar hesitant and he messes up in three different places but it was a sound test from last week and I grabbed it before they could clear it off and do something else. I fall in love with voices before I'll even notice anything else. That was how I imprinted on Loch. He yelled first the night that stupid hockey ball knocked me down and changed my destiny. I was eight. I didn't know any better. They should have. This is a mess.