And I won't be crying if you're running but it's bad for my bones. I'll crawl through the cartographers garden, pluck the finest compass rose and I'm trying! To show you I'm your man, I'm trying, and I'm trying the best I can to make you, want to hop aboard my train to show you where I go, when I want to feel the summer rain, in the Southland, dear old Southland, in that Mexican yard. And I want to take you there and I want to blow and I want you to burn up this mountain of snow, it's so cold, it's so cold but you warm my little soul and it's cold and it's cold but you warm my little soul.
Ahem. Thom is a musical genius. I've had great doubt before about every situation and every human being. With him though, there is no doubt not about success, not about genius, not about comparison. Is it possible to have pride (the deep, welling kind) in someone you've known for less than the span of their life...is it possible for one aspect of someone to make the rest of their life make sense...explain their actions...be absolute motivation and still have the purest of intentions?
He is a creator with infinite raw material spilling out his sides and out of his hands. Not one human being could be jealous or hateful if they knew him and his life and all the stupid shit he's gone through to still be here and anyone else would have killed themselves, gone insane. But anything that goes through Thom turns to beauty, to song, to a smile and it's the best one there is, the best thing to wake up to in the morning, singing in your face.