Maybe this ain't your cup of tea, but I'll invite you to take a sip anyhow.
He's been a source of distraction the past couple of days. For someone who's achieved so much, it's surprising Rob's not a household name.
The way he speaks, the way he pens his thoughts while holding on to his cigarette oh-so-delicately, reminds me of a once avid poet by the name of Mr Jared Kok, and taken a step further, of Damien.
I share his sentiments when he confesses at 02:15 that he doesn't know anything else other than songwriting. I don't know anything else other than architecture. It's all I've got. But that also means I never have to look back and wonder 'what if...', except maybe for that one time when pap accidentally drove over Cadbury's thigh and sent him howling in agony. Alas, a Veterinarian, I am clearly not cut out to be.
I love the title of his sophomore solo album - Cradlesong. A quick google of it led from one thing to another and I stumbled upon this poem which struck a chord
(Disclaimer: It's from the Romantic Age)
"She Was a Phantom of Delight"
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveler between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warm, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,
With something of angelic light.
- William Wordsworth
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveler between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warm, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,
With something of angelic light.
- William Wordsworth
