begins at 4:53 of Richard Thompson's Gethsemane.
This means it takes a rock song life-time before it begins, which it does with the same one-note authority on which Sympathy for The Devil ends.
The patience, even boredom, of the songs first four plus minutes is the pace of coming exhaustion. Your best punches? Go ahead. Punch yourself out.
The solo itself whistles in the dark and dances on the grave. Thompson twirls a ‘show's over, folks' lick at 5:26, thirty seconds all it took to tell the tale and nab your soul. That was easy, it says.
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Like Flannery O'Connor, kinda.