I find it interesting that those cute little quirks our partner has in our twenties that we find so attractive turn into really annoying habits after living together for thirty or so years.
At a cabaret festival in Orlando I heard a young woman do a slowed down rendition, with just a piano accompanying her, and found the lyrics to be hauntingly beautiful . I agree with your take on the pop version though
My Dad was a company clerk in a MASH unit attached to Patton’s Third Army. It didn’t prevent him from being shot at, straffed or ,more importantly, seeing what went on inside the camps when they liberated the Buchenwald complex. Unlike Phil, he never talked about it, let alone write a memoir.
Looks like he’s using a long lighter to get the fire going, not a baton.