Stairway to Finnegan
Last night I found myself deep in a dark pit of despair, inconsolable, and bereft of all hope. Weary of this endless vale of misery I cried out in my anguish, shaking my little fists at the skies. My mother and father both tried to help me, investigating my diaper, offering milk, singing me songs and walking with me late into the night – but nothing could prevail over my dark mood. My cries rang out into the black void of the night.
These are the times that try men's souls.
Then my father sat with me at his computer and played some music for me. At first I was shocked at this new sound, and forgot my troubles immediately. Father was playing some delightful and spritely music played by a quartet of rambunctious lads from merry olde England, a magical place where I must assume faeries and gnomes have gay jousts whilst riding on the backs of butterflies and caterpillars.
I am told that what I heard was the music of Led Zeppelin, and many songs of great variety they were. For more than an hour I listened in rapt attention to this universe spanning symphony of sounds and colors and vibrations so varied and energetic that I felt that my very soul was traveling through space and time – a feeling that made me nostalgic for my recent past when floating through time and space was my primary occupation, being as yet incorporeal.
Finally there was one song, the title of which I cannot be entirely certain, that told of a lady who I can only surmise was mother (I know of very few other ladies) who wished to buy a magical stairway. But this was no ordinary stairway, it was a stairway to Finnegan!
Hallelujah
Oh glorious day! Oh wondrous song! That you could so accurately capture my joy and tell it back to me! For is that not what the whole world is? A stairway to Finnegan.
I know of no other destination. Fortunately for me I am already here.