Go ahead, call it cheesy, disposable pop; call it overwrought sentimentality; call it late 70s soft-rock sludge. I don't care. This is one of the great pop ballads here.
Essays, notes, and fragments--personal, political, and philosophical--from the midst of things
So long as I allow myself to think this is a song about my favorite pig with a heart of gold, it doesn't seem so bad.
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