these lovely female golden throats

The querulous girls in the chorus are singing songs that rifle your soul.

That's not to say that the tunes and their execution are not unfine to behold. The melody and harmony flow high and are buoyant, like twin Vs of birds racing gracefully off to places untouched by winter's grimy and flu-ish aspirations.

No, those robed young ladies can really and without argument sing.

Aderyn & Beata & Cloe & Dore & Elenore & Flo-flo & Gretta & Hilda & Ingrid & Justine & Kathy & LunaMoona Martinez & Mahalia & Norine & Odalis & Patrice & Quiterie & Razi & Sugar Sweet Susu & "Timbre" Timber Treetop & Umi & Vern & Wendy "Why Not?" Wynette, Xyza-ndallthe rest: They cough out tunes so beautifully, so perfectly timed.

But 1/3 of them have explosives strapped with electrical tape to their smooth young thighs. Another 1/3 have sharp blades tucked into the bountiful sleeves of their flowy singing gowns. And the last 1/3, well the look their eyes wear are as plainly poisonous as cyanide.

I'm singing along with them, these lovely females with gilded throats, only I'm doing what they do in reverse. It's as if I'm sucking in whatever words they sing, recycling them and releasing them back out into the world transformed, even purer.

I grow lightheaded and eternally, collapsingly faint, rife with regret that I can't do for the singers what I can do for the song.