It was over, that was obvious. The band was falling apart. He sat despondent in the empty studio, feeling spent, empty, without ideas, uninspired. Clearly he would never write again, never move others as he'd always done before. He felt grief at the thought. “Woe is me,” he mumbled, tinkling the keyboard in accompaniment, “woe is me.” He repeated the words, voice rising, voice falling, again and again, lamenting.
After several hours Mary, the kindly old cleaning lady, looked in from the hall. “Oh Paul,” she whispered. “Poor darling! Just let it be.”
McCartney startled and straightened at the piano . . .
Inspired by The Full MAPL. Image from a photo by Max Scheler.
Nice one, Mr. Thompson!
ReplyDeleteThanks! ❤️
Delete