Words by Kimo Muraki

“Feelings, part two”… as in, let’s try this again?  No, more like, “Thank the Goddesses that we GET to do this again.”  

This song was written over time.  Time changed the song. 

We are a trio.  We’ve been a band for just over a decade now.  Robert (with whom I started this project) has been living without kidney function and on a regular, gruelling dialysis schedule through more than half of that time… playing shows, rehearsing, writing, recording, working, loving, playing more shows.  He’s an animal.  Driven by deep creativity, anchored by the love and support of his incredible partner, and just entirely too stubborn to let anything get in the way.  Robert finally got his transplant in late October 2021 from a living donor, fellow musician and longtime friend, Kari Kirkland.  Thank you, Kari.  Now we all get a second chance.  Feelings, part two.  

Markus doesn’t sleep much.  The progressions for this song are just one among an arsenal of late, sleepless nights in his rapid-fire mind.  I suppose this particular night the prog rock, analogue synth ghosts of bands like Yes and Genesis were lurking in his subconscious.  I imagine Markus’s brain floating independently in a bubbling jar of syrup with little nodes and wires swaying gently in the ooze and connected to a little speaker on the outside like in all of the best old sci-fi flicks.  And when it “speaks” it only does so in terms of strange 7th and 5th analogue synth chord combinations.  No words, just feelings… part two. 

Guilty pleasure: writing of my beloved band mates without objection.  Seems a bit unfair?  Love it.

Again, we get to keep doing this.  I wrote these lyrics over time and let them shift during this time.  Refining the arrangement, rehearsing it, performing it… but mostly it was the absurdly real, slap-in-the-face life things.  

Reflecting… right, so Robert is going in for double bi-pass surgery (yes, that also happened).

Take your chance to come alive

A feeling you can call your own

Covid.  Unemployment.  Ok, that was rough.  But losing friends (and not to covid) creates perspective no one can prepare for.  Mourning for someone who is living with a terminal illness but is so alive and has become so deeply and profoundly connected to life and love… is hard.  And beautiful.  And really hard.  Feelings, part two.

I won't play this game alone

If there's one more chance

I feel it just enough, you stay this long

Sing it loud

I am really fortunate.  We are really fortunate.  The community.  The support.  The love.  The music.  We get to keep doing this.  It’s a good time for Feelings, part two.