“About what?”
Silence. Then, Deborah laughed—not cruelly, but softly. “Oh, babe. My voice literally quit on me when my last band walked out. You think I’m scared of a broken piano?” “About what
“It’s a coffin,” Deborah shot back. “Where’s the fight? Where’s the anger turning into sunrise? You write like you’re afraid to make a sound.” “About what?” Silence. Then
“About what?”
Silence. Then, Deborah laughed—not cruelly, but softly. “Oh, babe. My voice literally quit on me when my last band walked out. You think I’m scared of a broken piano?”
“It’s a coffin,” Deborah shot back. “Where’s the fight? Where’s the anger turning into sunrise? You write like you’re afraid to make a sound.”