I genuinely think that this track is instrumental in providing a sense of hope to a player who has thus far been mired in deep alcoholic depression. To be exposed to what lays outside the whirling and rags and find something somber but orchestral and swelling gives you that small bit of Hope
2:44 The trumpet. When you close your eyes, you can feel the light ocean mist on your face, like a salty chill. The briny wind of the coast, gusting through the trees and alleys and ruins. The cracked cobble beneath you of a post war seawall. And the trumpet, calling from beyond the sea and the mist. You can see Martinaise. You can feel Revachol.
