Agnes Obel Spotting

The streets of Swamp City, how they utterly compel me to fall into its murky treasures. Her piano, the sound of the city, her voice soothing us in our early days, bathing us with some foreign love. There is much in the mind, to contemplate every corner of this here swamp. I hope you are kind, to wrap me up after the storm. Still she sings, bringing me some peace. I think about it all. The past of this city, the life that people led here, the tragedies, the identity, the beauty and the hope.

I might bump into you at any given corner here. We live here, amongst the walls and bodies that define it, with monumental history bearing down on us, breathing down our necks. History, we would not be here without you. I sing too, into the wind. It takes my voice where nobody knows. Perhaps one day it might reach the ear of a man or a woman, someone who knows what love is and recognises the sound of that, of a friend, of a warrior.

I'm not looking for you, but somewhere in this city you will be walking, drifting, dreaming and thinking. One day, perhaps our paths will cross, perhaps we will both be circles, never getting lost. I hope to still be around.

If I spot you I'd smile, I'd feel happy inside, to know a beautiful part of this spellbinding city can for a moment slip into my eyesight. I hope the city holds you with love, as I also wish for it to receive me into its swamp like arms kindly. The sound of 'Aventine' is walking towards me, I can't wait to meet her.