For Charles Barrow

A treasury of tracks ripe for mixing
EQ compression panning delay and gain
Count for nothing unless they sound like
Woody before a labor meeting

What prices must the artist pay
What sufferings what wicked deeds
As all suffer all perpetrate
But the artist refines transmutes transmogrifies

And the world submits to this deception
Craving to luxuriate in seeming
And dares not peer into
The firehot fermenting cauldron