Still Wet

There is a remake now, not only a plan for one. The song keeps its title and its place; the earlier files remain recoverable. That is a small, solid fact. Set it down without dressing it as a verdict on the music.

If revision were a printmaker, this would be the moment of lifting a second sheet: ink still dark, the pressure of the press released. The first impression would stay nearby, not as an embarrassment turned toward the wall, but as a record of what prompted another try.

Perhaps the new line would be clearer. Perhaps a delicate mark would have disappeared while another gained strength. The second sheet would not answer those questions merely by being second. Someone would have to look.

For this song, the reference has entered the process as actual sound, rather than a name alone. The result exists. Its sung words and quality still need a fuller listening judgment. Progress can contain both sentences without crossing either out.

Let the imagined print dry flat. No hurried frame, no ceremony that asks the ink to prove too much. Keep the old impression within reach. Then bring the new one into the light, where a change can become something more useful than a claim.