This Unruly Mess I've Made

I couldn't escape I'd been escaping the whole time I had to finally look Look at the mess we had made And all that's lacker the glory And tarnished failures Stare at it... and then leave I was too comfortable Being comfortable is what kills artists There is creativity for validation and there is creativity for survival They're very different places I didn't know what I wanted to say Didn't know how the ink would stick to the page How to let go of the anxiety And the suffocating fear that latched onto my vocal chords I had to figure out how to use my voice again So we went ghost The Irish goodbye, into the woods in the dead of winter We bought a 1985 Suburban, loaded up our equipment And just left town People make music for all different reasons It's the fabric that connects us We dance together, we cry together We celebrate our communities We question our politics We laugh, we scream, we imagine, we live What I couldn't find in a hotel room on the road, or even in Seattle I found in the middle of nowhere, no reception Making music not because we had to, but because we got to I had forgotten how to do that Not being afraid of the platform we were standing on Not creating from a place of "Don't fuck it up" But creating from a place of "Fuck it up" Look at the mess Not just the one that we created But the one that is the very fabric of our country The mess we're all living in Stop being silent Even if it's not perfect or politically correct, you have to speak up You have to listen Dance, cry, question everything Laugh, scream, imagine, live Music was never intended to be programmed to, manufactured and turned into a commodity Music was intended to be that one thing that we could rely on to disrupt the norm Start conversations and change the way that we think and we feel If you aren't scared of what you created, you aren't done yet On February 26th, I want to share with you This Unruly Mess I've Made