Hear it here.

There are other artists that are the music of my heart, but Paul Simon (with and without Art Garfunkel) is the music of my soul. For me there is always a light to be found in Simon's arrangements; sometimes it's a light I really need, like to remember that my brother can be very fragile. Or it might just be one that makes me warm and fuzzy, like when I hear "Father and Daughter" and imagine Gramm and the Squid.

"American Tune" makes me feel sad and hopeful all at once, and terribly, terribly old.

Many's the time I've been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
Oh, but I'm alright, I'm alright
I'm just weary to my bones
Still, you don't expect to be
Bright and bon vivant
So far a-way from home, so far away from home

When I was little, I would jump up and down in the yard, and fantasize that, as every thing on earth is connected to every other, my 45-pound self was causing tremors in China, waves to break over shores in Australia, trees to grow taller in Canada. When I listen to this song, I am reminded that actually I am very, very small. It forces me to consider that I might have lived, to date, an ineffectual life.

I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered
or driven to its knees
Oh, but it's alright, it's alright
for we lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road we're traveling on
I wonder what's gone wrong
I can't help it, I wonder what's gone wrong

Worse, it seems like the rest of America is here with me. I picture sadness on faces of people I don't know, faces covered in white dust or in hunger or that glazed malaise that comes in when hope goes out.

And I dreamed I was dying
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
Smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying

Still, there's a part of me that is eminently practical. I can't right everyone's wrongs, and I shouldn't kill myself trying. The world could well be plummeting through the cosmos on its way to Hell in a handbasket at this moment, and ain't nothin' I can do that would change that.

But I hate the girl who thinks that way. I hate my inner cynic, the one who smiles wistfully at college freshmen and toddlers, envying them both for their total belief that they can conquer the world. I don't want to smile wistfully at anyone at all.

We come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age's most uncertain hours
and sing an American tune

I can find the small victories. I can have dinner with my best friends and laugh till my sides ache, and be fortified for a while. I can be thankful for the food in my kitchen and the roof over my head, even on a day like today where there isn't safety in this house. But it doesn't get me through as many days as it used to. For a long time I've felt like there is a gray blanket of sodden wool lying over us all, as if the whole country is trying bravely to smile at the small victories -- because constantly contemplating the greatest losses is more than our collective heart can stand, and otherwise we would just have to lie down and wait for the inevitable end. I want America to be young and full of promise, not a dying matriarch resigned to her passing.

I guess all we can do is keep on keeping on... and maybe go outside and jump up and down on the grass occasionally, not to cause tremors in China or for any good reason at all, other than to be reminded that we still can.

Oh, and it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
You can't be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day
And I'm trying to get some rest
That's all I'm trying to get some rest