Sonata for Trumpet and Piano, program for second movement
Turn into the wind
through all that hot air rising
up from the scorched earth
conjuring up so much
cloud obscured truth
Turn into the wind
To soar
Even though it is so much easier
lying there face to the sky
back to the devastated soil
Nothing grows there
The answer is rising with the air
Like Gilmour’s soul in tension
it deserves another mention
Turn into the wind
tired of detecting baloney
piled to Carnegie’s heights
by a small-time boney maloney