Roots of Rude

We've all heard those voices on the radio - remnants of voices in our heads. Some say to laugh, some say to weep, some try to steal our dignity. I've heard voices from some friends I know who try to simplify my life. They have their world, and I have mine; they try to help but it's not right.

I'm not saying we can't help each other, but it'd be better if we learned from each other. We've got to jump into worlds that aren't our own; into depth of souls unknown.

We ain't trying to sing some voice that fits your ears; what you've heard ain't what you hear. We just try to make you forget your tears. Move your feet, clap the beat, we'll be alright.

I saw a jogging girl singing a song she knows; she bobbed her head like it was her stage and microphone. I had heard this tune and disapproved, but her joy had upped my roots of rude. (And that's the greatest truth).

I'm not saying we should deny ourselves. There's uniqueness in our bones. But we gotta listen to  songs unlike our own and the depth of souls unknown.

We ain't trying to sing some voice that fits your ears; what you've heard ain't what you hear. We just try to make you forget your tears. Move your feet, clap the beat, we'll be alright.

Move your feet, clap the beat, we'll be alright.