Dusty flipped through the channels.

Station after station of news.

He felt it was all distorted; none of the news worth telling really meant much to an average man like himself.

Every day it felt like the world was getting farther and farther from the good. People worried over how much good they had done, or how much they hadn’t done.

What was good anymore?

Most deeds, good or bad, came from the wallet, not the heart.

The world tore him apart.

But he could still love.

And he could still play his music.

I’m so far away from heaven, I feel burnin’ in my shoes. But I’m listenin’ to the whispers of your heart. You can save a million people, not make the evening news. But the big ol’ world’s got my soul blown apart.