Shawn MacDonald
RootsWalk back home, not drunk enough, talking to that guy you met earlier, not quite sure how, as he tells you how to solve your life. For everything there's a reason, for everything there's a time. Not quite sure if he knows what to do with his life, you listen to him, looking for some answers yourself, as you dissapear inside each one of the buildings you walk by, your feet aching inside your wet shoes. It is almost nice to have that monotonous chitchat along as you think of the way the colors melt with the wind that blows inside your chest, that sudden fear coming out of the shadows shaking you up –yet no one notices. You can hear him far away, coming from an old vinyl recording, singing slow down, baby, slow down. That is so true, you think... Wonder if he knows what that really means –wonder if you do. So you pay a little more attention to what he says, only to find the same common places and clichés, he's right where you expected him to be. But you keep on walking, listening, because between all the aleluyas, RnB licks and corny pop arrangments, you may actually find something that sounds as good as "Slow Down". If you don't, you can just make it up inside your head. - postbop
Labels: 2008
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