I’d made us a couple of Bloody Marys and I was sinking into a Congress House couch when Mark told me about a numinous dream he’d had the night before. The way he described it I felt as though I had experienced the dream myself. He sent me home with a vision and a melody, but not a song that planned on coming easy. He kept sending me back to the drawing board. One night while trying to write I got so frustrated I started stomping around my apartment, crying and literally screaming at the song. That sounds ridiculous - hell, it probably is. But I remember Tori Amos speaking of fighting with her muses. Mark, rightfully so, demanded that I face my muses, and make the lyrics worthy of his dream that had become both of ours.