Each of us can imagine a time when we'll be called to account for what we've done and not done. We may try to make excuses, we may try to change the subject, we may wish for a chance to turn back the clock. But there will be no hiding.
If not God, then it will be our conscience demanding answers.
In this piece I imagine such a situation. The music is alternately humble, complaining, or creating diversions. It attempts to present itself as perfection, in that the form of a palindrome is about as perfect as a form can be. The music consists entirely of palindromes, with durations ranging from two minutes down to a second. But the larger palindromes are interrupted by shorter ones, which may themselves be interrupted. What had potential to be perfect is not. Even some of the palindromes themselves contain flaws, like DNA which is imperfectly copied from a parent to a child. This reminds me of Persian weavers who intentionally insert a flaw into each carpet to acknowledge that only God is perfect.