
Have you ever been in a room or a place that had its history alive to the point you could feel it? This was a place like that. It probably had to do with the feeling of the walls or the stone tiled floors in some of the public access parts. More than that was feeling like I was in a hole; a shoebox in which you bury your pet parakeet.
Moussorgsky, the composer of the piece below, suffered, particularly in the Russian winters, from Melancholia. He served in that hospital during his stint in the military about the time of our civil war. No wonder.
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