Let it be known. It's not 'Stairway to Heaven'. It's 'The Immigrant Song'.
It is true. The most outstanding song by the the most wonderful coincidence of our reality, born of the hell-favoured gathering of madmen with unmatched skills, a pied-piper-sans-a-pipe-plus-a-guitar, and a banshee, is 'The Immigrant Song'.
It gives me goosebumps. Over and over again. And I have been listening to it incessantly for the last 48 hours. Barely over 2 minutes of concentrated frenzy, no-fat-all-muscle viking anthem. Who could possibly say it more convincingly- "We are your overlo-o-o-h-oh-o-rds".
It's simpler than simplicity. It's serndipity that erupts when you are the best of what you do. It's unlike anything else you'd ever hear.
Hats off. Sweaty T-shirts off. And if you so decree, O overlords of rock n' roll, I'd gladly take my skin off. Indeed, valhalla, have a royal suite ready when the rest of them get there.
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