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