That was a title for something... something I wrote, long ago. I can't recall whether it was a song (gasp!), poem or just a few scrawls. Certainly can't remember the context. But recalling the title has some fuzzy recollection, an ethereal glow of a feeling or place akin to the expression itself.
Mr Pinter is now, sadly, dead to this world. I however, am not. 2009 has been an upheaval of sorts so far, characters change and plots thicken... on page and in living breath.
All you can ever do is honour memory, stay true and be free.
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