Progressively glum though I may find myself, there are still things that cause me to sigh in gratitude, and consider my fortune at having been born at precisely the right time. Here's one: the opportunity to periodically glimpse at Moz's life as it filters through to lyric and song, and to be able to project it onto my own, for enrichment, support, or simply auditory pleasure. Fated as it may be for my pointless life to end, there were good times in his company, his songs a remarkably prescient intersection of his public and my private life.

Having spent some time away from his world,  I am struck by many things upon returning. For one, he's given this shy sad-sack more moral support than likely any other songwriter. For another, how he represents a kind of ideal when it comes to expressing the dour -- while it's absolutely essential to acknowledge the insufferable, why let it envelop you? That's fun in its own way, but it's also easy, and the result invariably fades with the sorrow. The void is a humourless thing. So reporting the journey with with on your side, there's no fear of ever losing yourself.

Implicit in all of this is the unconditional empathy I get from his words. When he rallies against the carnivores and destructors, and threatens to slit their throats, you know that he has someone like you in mind. If you ever need someone on your side, you have a great heart in your arsenal.