An intriguing thought strikes me, as I near the completion of the first draft of a new song. To the extent that form follows content (yes, Mr. Sondheim, to the best of my ability), it feels right now as if process follows form. My recollection of getting my handful of Bardic songs to date on the page, the process of working through each one feels as if it mirrored the nature of the song. “The Bastard’s Tale” came out quickly, rushing to the page, hot, angry, and urgent, impatient to get to the point. “My Thirst” lurched drunkenly to and fro during the writing, staggering for a day through the wrong tune, which had to be rewritten, shortening every line by a couple of syllables–this had the effect of tightening the jokes and making the song easier to sing as if inebriated, but at the time the rework was a touch like a hangover. “Call Me Will”, whose concept had eluded me for over a year, was coy and required stalking for a few weeks even after it took shape. It took patience and guile to lure it into place, but once I had it pinned, I was surprised at how little rewriting it actually required–it more or less sank right into the page in the end.