There came a time when every song that could be written had been written. There were still singers and those who called themselves writers, but everyone who tried to write a new song, no matter how much time or effort they put into it, ended up writing the same song. We called it The Last Song, and though we did not love it, we had heard it many times and knew it by heart. The Last Song was the bane of our people, despised and ubiquitous. Like a virus it reproduced itself and sapped our strength, and we sang along.