Strawberry Swing Coldplay-Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends
A curious beat for a curious girl; for you, Morgan Turnage, are nothing other than a curious girl. The guitar is a twisted sort of merrymaking incarnate; the sporadic and jovial beat is an open field, wide freedom begging to be seized; the escalating strings are a steady joy. Every moment so precious, my dear Morgan, I would not want to waste a thing.
This song, a flickering montage of perfect days, Morgan Turnage, this song is for you. It swells with the wet showers of Hurricane Hannah and sings of spontaneous wanderings. It stretches from Fifth Avenue and Tenth Street to Central Park South, from Little Haiti to Santa Monica, every so often pondering the curious irony of metal statues and metal allergies. This song, Morgan Turnage, cries of your strange, strange destructive habits of inquiry, of your near monumental massacre by the multitudes. It softly hums of your self-proclaimed paparazzi in the park, and, Morgan Turnage, it realizes that today is such a perfect day.
I love you, Morgan Turnage, and I love today; I love every day in which you grace my life with your presence. You might someday find yourself in your beloved India, but I will find you, Morgan Turnage. I will find you.
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