Chapter Text
Spring.
Alright. Time to finish this out. Finish my account of those events. It’s an old song, an old tale from way back when. A very, very old song. That’s how it ended. That’s how it goes. Don’t ask me why or how. I don’t know the answer. He was so close. The song was written so long ago and that’s how it goes. It’s an old song- a tragedy, but we sing it anyways. Here’s the thing, to know how it ends and still begin to sing it again, as if you think it might turn out this time is something I learned from a friend of mine. See, Paul was a poor boy but he had a gift to give. He could make you see the world in spite of the way that it was. Can you see it? Can you hear it? Can you feel it? Almost like a train. Is it coming?
On a sunny day, there was a railway car and a man stepping off a train. Everybody looked at him and everybody saw that Spring had come again with a love song. The song carries with it the tale of love from long ago. It’s a sad and old song but we keep singing it anyway. It’s a song from way back when and we’re gonna sing it again.
Bill would host annual parties, in honour of Emma and Paul. “Pour the wine, brother,” he’d begin, “even pour a drop for Paul, wherever he is now.” he’d continue. Paul was never present. He didn’t do much after Emma died again. Wherever Paul was, they would sing to him. He was alone in the world and he wanted to feel complete like he did then.
If you’re wondering what became of the poor lad whom we call Paul, he tried so very hard to die. He did. He wanted to be with Emma again. To feel like a whole again. But the world wouldn’t let him. The world wanted him here. Eventually though he did die. He did. Even now, brothers he walks with Emma in the Underground. He is free to walk around with her. Side by side, hand in hand, arm in arm and all that. Even if he walks in front, with her in back, he is allowed to look back at her however many times he wants. He is.
A sort of bittersweet ending to a tale you wanted to end well. Kind of happy but you know the full story- at least my account of it. The Underground is a different world, you and I both know that, brother. To you I leave this wisdom. The wisdom Bill sang of when he remembered Emma and Paul, the love they shared, the love that brought back Spring. To you, I leave this. A piece of wisdom and a piece that we remember. The gods, we remember this forever, songbird. This is what we sing.
Some birds sing when the sun is bright. This praise, it isn’t for them. The ones who sing in the dead of night. They are who we raise our cups to. Some flowers bloom where green grass grows. The praise we sing, it isn’t for them. It is for the ones who bloom in the snow. That is who we sing for. We raise our cups and drink them up. To Paul, and to all of us, goodnight brothers, goodnight.