I suppose that there is often a brief flash of victory at the moment of emasculation, as he turns his back:

The world was calling you away, and your leaving was your way of staying with what you had come to say.
The pain was a poem, slowly written and torn from the book, cast into a corner of the attic where no one could look.
Rage for all to see caught fire and burned all around me until there was nothing left to burn.
Now I stand all alone in these attic bones and reread this poem all yellowed with age.
Tears heal such as healing is and so I cast this page into the ashes;
And there is no flame - only shades of regret.
And those too shall fade, as the world calls me away.


That may not be published except for an introduction to another song on Live at the Bass by Lindsey BUCKINGHAM. I put it to memory because I wanted to be as good as Lindsey at something on stage. So as long as he is not playing that guitar of his...