I was caught
In the middle of a railroad track
I looked round
And I knew there was no turning back
My mind raced
And I thought what could I do
And I knew
There was no help, no help from you
“What are you doing?” Magni scowls. Lately, I wonder if he has any other expression.
It’s Móði who figures it out first. Móði the would-be sorcerer, who can feel the eddies and currents of the Wyrd begin to shift beneath our feet. “Opening a Wound,” he says. “That’s where you hid Mjölnir?”
The “cricket bat” is the door, the song is the key. Stupid jokes, both of them, and I remember thinking myself oh-so-clever when I set this all up. That’s the problem with pop-culture references, though. They need an audience with the context. Not out of time sticks-in-the-mud like the Thunder Boys. I need Sigmund. He’d appreciate the joke. Would’ve been laughing at the first “nah na-na naah nah.” Singing along maybe, or trying to. I’m not sure anyone really knows the lyrics to “Thunderstruck,” belted out in Brian Johnson’s bizarre growl. One of the greatest songs from the greatest bands of all time, and practically no one realizes it’s about a whorehouse.
All around us, the world begins to Bleed.
Yeah, of course it was gonna be in here. You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?
My favourite part of the quote above is where the copyeditor queried me on whether I was sure I’d included enough “nahs”. (For the record: no, but I did Google the sheet music to try and double-check.)
Everything is true, some of it’s embellished.
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