Erick Baker 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.

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