Poor Lisved. "Something was finally going to be a metaphor!" she protests, but it isn't, it's a river-elf in winter. Easy mistake to make, for a Southerner. I am wallowing and gnawing. Gnarrr.
I also realized that one of the "obvious" rules of this world that appeared to spring fully formed from my poor splitting head is actually lifted sideways from "Uncle John's Band," which is the second time that song has done something similar to me in the last fortnight, and I'm about done now, I think, and can move on to a different song getting sneaky on me, maybe.
Also, timprov's Pandora station is giving us yet another example of why songwriters shouldn't always sing their own songs. Ai yai yai. Pick that tempo up by about half, mister! You didn't write a dirge, so don't sing one! People, remember, you do not have to listen to people talking about what their art means or how it should be interpreted, because we make all this up, and we do not always have a clue what we're talking about or why it works. We try. But sometimes we're just wrong, and if you have a choice between listening to the artist or the art, for heaven's sake, pick the art.
timprov: "Pandora is being the White Witch: it's always folk and never Tom Paxton." We are also playing "second-guess the lyricist." It's a good game, very amusing to people with a large rhyming vocabulary. Play at home!