Erick Baker

He stomps his foot down hard with the strumming of the guitar and throws his head back as though possessed by some lost ghost. She overcomes him. You can see her in his eyes when he's brave enough to open them. Eyes are the window to the soul you know, but the soul has many outlets. The soul can escape through song and sweat and melody. Words alone can be the vehicle. Rhythmic words, set to a stomping foot and a resonating chord, rhythmic words from a voice that shakes but stays strong, a voice that bursts from some hidden wound.

She overcomes him. You can see her in his eyes when he's brave enough to open them. Eyes are the window to the soul you know, but the soul has many outlets. The soul can escape through song and sweat and melody. Words alone can be the vehicle. Rhythmic words, set to a stomping foot and a resonating chord, rhythmic words from a voice that shakes but stays strong, a voice that bursts from some hidden wound. His words do not open the window to the soul, nor the door....his words open the floodgates and the soul does not make a quiet escape.

Now we're in a room of blacked out windows and locked doors. Rows of bottled-up emotions filed away neatly, not to be touched. Dust covered labels that read: Love, Loss, Heartbreak, Forgiveness, Redemption. Does this look familiar?

Erick Baker stomps his foot down hard with the strumming of the guitar and throws his head back as though possessed by some lost ghost. And now those bottles we try so hard to keep buried inside start shaking and rocking back and forth...

Will you steady them and quickly pack them away once more to hopefully be forgotten, or will you let them fall and feel something you haven't felt in a long time?