When I heard that song when I was little, I created a little world for that song and it remained the world which I would automatically asscoiate with everytime I heard it. It was my own little synasthesia.
This particular song reminded me of towering pillars which pierced into the dark sky above where stars danced and twinkled. I could see the eternity of existence and it made me feel small and somewhat hopeless in its eye. As the song progressed, the short piano solo came in and it transported me to a house which stood hidden behind many trees. I could hear the pattering of the tropical rain on the metal roof outside and I could see, at the end of the corridor, the sillohuette of an old hunched figure - my great-grandmother - who I had not seen or touched in over seven years now.
The song died away and so did these visions - the rainstorm and my great-grandmother and the pillars and the dark sky - disappeared and reality reemerged. And so here I am, in reality, in front of my laptop, in my room, in England, in winter, telling you about my visions and my memories - and oh, about how abstract they are now.
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