You can't really have a good hot bath like this without the means to wash yourself properly, really get into the hard-to-reach areas - like right inside your ears - and the rhythm sponge, while vital, just won't cut the mustard.īefore you ask, no there's no musical loofah. It's the only thing which is missing from what is otherwise a perfect bathing experience, and its absence is starting to grate. Oh how we will miss that flannel (which in this slightly overcooked analogy is the tune). And then flail around under the surface, to try and locate the melody flannel, which slipped down beneath the harmoniously bubbly waves, never to be seen again. Wade through the murky organ (no jokes, it's only a bath) and whispering steam, sounding as close to a human voice as you could imagine, so close you could swear there were actual words. Marvel at the intricate way the guitars mesh together, like the intertwined metal on an ornamental soap dish. Oh this is a deep hot bath of a song, isn't it? Feel the sumptuous depths in those drums, pounding away distantly as if from the inside of some creaky old copper pipes.
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