D Tale
Embrace your dreams and prove your honor...
Так приятно работать с текстом once in a while. Давно ничего подобного не писал ведь. Особенно на ингле. Создано на основе песни Don McLean - Sea Man, перед прочтением рекомендуется прослушать.


Soft, gentle silence stroking the voice, deep beautiful voice of a single man telling a story. He sounds sad. Melancholic. Fatal even. As though he surrendered already to whatever there is that's ought to come. As though he knows there's nothing he or, for the matter of fact, anyone else can possibly change, thus he has no fear, but hardly there's any hope in his eyes either. As though he accepted the fate, whether it's real or... whatever. He's telling the story, and the story is dark.

He talks of another man. The man of nature or, as he himself refers to him, Sea Man. Talks of a man who dreamed to be free, but ended up with his world collapsing under his very feet. He talks of the people and the selfishness, sweet poison running in human veins along with the blood. Talks of us - me, you, him, all the countless them - and our cruel, destructive, very human nature.

Gods, he's sharp. The kind that leaves you mute and impressed by the accuracy and the deep, not the one that cuts, though maybe, just maybe he does that too. And as he talks, the story unwraps, same as the world he paints by his words, and the landscape breathes of despair, even though it's not that different from the one sketched on the glass of our own windows... Maybe, it's his voice? He gets emotional, just a bit, but it rocks like a thunder. And the silence abandons him, hence the world of slightly upset, magnificent nevertheless sounds embraces him.

He talks of the kings and the doctors, and those are metaphors, just people initially and really. He talks of the butchers, us, as he talks of the blood. Talks of betrayal. And be honest, at some point a wild thought roams into your mind - he might very well be the same as that Sea Man. Or maybe, and here it gets even crazier, just maybe he used to be him, but something changed him along the way - ripped out his dreams, hacked his heart, dried his soul. Maybe that lack of freedom and evil blood pumping into hearts of everyone of us he talks about? Or maybe, if that really is the case, maybe it's just life?

So here you are, 20 pounds of positive and few cigarettes less than you were 5 minutes ago. You listen. Listen and wonder. What if you're doomed to repeat his steps? And how, how in hell's name can you escape? Or even... Can you?

@темы: Prose