But, I Can't Sing
"So, Ramos, there's this one song of y'all's that I really like. I don't think it's very well known, but it's called 'I'm Not Deaf, You're Just Boring'." A loud cry comes from the original fans, the people who loved Sleeping Giants before they were giant. Ramos gives you an odd sentimental smile.
"I haven't sang that one in a while. Let's do it." He motions to Lenny and the drums begin to beat faster than your racing heart. Deep down you know this is what you have been waiting for. An average nine-to-five worker like you lighting up the stage. Your palms are wet on the backup mic they handed you just minutes before.
The first verse begins and you bend over the microphone and scream like you hate the air in your lungs. Tears of happiness mingle with beads of sweat and the back of your throat pleads with you to stop, to falter, but you don't. Not even once. This song. This moment. This is all you are. Nothing else matters. The screams of the crowd creep into your ears as if through heave cotton. The end of the song is rapidly approaching and you prepare yourself to let go, just one last time, of all the air and emotion you have.
"You bore me to tears,
having you here is punishment
worse than a million years
of silence."
Your voice grates on the word silence, and then suddenly, silence is all you know, The crowd moves not a single muscle until finally Ramos, stunned, drops his microphone and pulls you into a bone-crushing soul-healing hug. You hug back and the crows roars so loud your ears ring and ache. But, that feeling of fullness in your chest is worth all the hard times. Worth all the pain. Ramos smiles at you and suddenly you realize the stage feels more like home than your own bed.
"I haven't sang that one in a while. Let's do it." He motions to Lenny and the drums begin to beat faster than your racing heart. Deep down you know this is what you have been waiting for. An average nine-to-five worker like you lighting up the stage. Your palms are wet on the backup mic they handed you just minutes before.
The first verse begins and you bend over the microphone and scream like you hate the air in your lungs. Tears of happiness mingle with beads of sweat and the back of your throat pleads with you to stop, to falter, but you don't. Not even once. This song. This moment. This is all you are. Nothing else matters. The screams of the crowd creep into your ears as if through heave cotton. The end of the song is rapidly approaching and you prepare yourself to let go, just one last time, of all the air and emotion you have.
"You bore me to tears,
having you here is punishment
worse than a million years
of silence."
Your voice grates on the word silence, and then suddenly, silence is all you know, The crowd moves not a single muscle until finally Ramos, stunned, drops his microphone and pulls you into a bone-crushing soul-healing hug. You hug back and the crows roars so loud your ears ring and ache. But, that feeling of fullness in your chest is worth all the hard times. Worth all the pain. Ramos smiles at you and suddenly you realize the stage feels more like home than your own bed.
