The words of which she’d had no idea I’d recorded. “Some are not meant for this life for too long.” I threaded the opening verse over the beats. The volume was quiet, a crescendo building the second verse. “A fleeting glimpse, a silent birdsong…” Drums built, violins soft in the background. Then, the drum beat in double time, her voice gaining volume, until I smashed it, bringing the song to its maximum beat, Bonnie’s soft voice pushed to the highest volume, her violet-blue words coating every inch of the room…
