But as it is, the song's a six-minute epic in need of more time, a prayer for bodiless heroes and a grappling search for spirit amid ruin. "A trail of shooting stars/The horses call the storm/Because the air contains the charge," Roderick sings as piano and drums provide spare accompaniment. At the tune's end, after many nearly undecipherable verses, Roderick's target finally comes into focus: "The radio is on/And Houston knows the score/Can you feel it/We're almost home."
Folkish and polite, the remaining five cuts reflect petty concerns; almost indecently selfish, in light of what came before. It's like a boxer trying to stand up after getting knocked out.