Can you hear it? Listen close now. Listen real close. Can you hear it? Most can’t. But us, we can. We can hear it. Every sound, every note and instrument. It plays for us all, but nobody can hear it, cause nobody stops to listen. Oh sure you can feel it. Every pump and rush, each ripple and thrust, you can feel it. Some? They don’t like it. Rubs ’em the wrong way. But wrong or right it rubs us all, but after a while you become so used to it you don’t even feel it any more.
We can feel it too, but most of all, we can hear it. It’s always changing, never stopping. Maybe you’ve seen our work? Maybe you’ve heard us pass? Did you shut your curtains, feel our passing with your heart beating in time, hoping it’d go and leave you be? Maybe you looked out, dared a glance at the trail we blazed, the tug inside ignored but never forgotten. It doesn’t matter what you did. You stayed inside, you let that one listen pass you by, hoping to the gods you weren’t addicted. Like us.
And we are. Don’t doubt it. Every moment, every movement, it consumes us, like it consumes us all in its constant beat. So we dance, moving through lives and localities every night, touched by the music we can’t help but hear, and painting the walls with audio drenched blood. And blood it is, the colours slapped across each other in a fervent outpouring of body and soul, each stroke and spray in perfect rhythm with the throbbing pulse going through us. Me? That’s how I let it out. That’s how I dance. We all got our way. For every punk painting the streets with his soul, there’s another screaming his lyrics to the sky, burning through her pages with lives and lessons trapped in her mind, or just dancing, swinging, jumping to that pounding, coursing sound.
Once you let it out, you can’t stop. You’ve opened the flood. Society, sobriety, sanity, kiss ’em all goodbye. Just dance. Every time you let it take you, another lets it take them too, and soon we’ll all be dancing through the street, a parade marinading the city in colour and vibration and life. All dancing to that same beat. Sometimes you’ll lose the rhythm, sometimes you’ll forget the words, or colour outside the lines, but after a while you realise that’s the point. Once you really let go, then you’re dancing. And you stop just feeling it, and start hearing it. From yourself. From the person across the street. From your neighbour and your boss and your mother. Everyone’s a part of it, like it or not. And one day, one day, we’ll all dance to it. You and me and the whole world, dancing to the heartbeat of the soul.