Slut Shoes

If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:
THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC

-Kurt Vonnegut-

I have begun writing and recording a low-fi album. It is giving me a certain sense of joy, the joy found in creating. It's a very cathartic experience, giving me pratice at pratical songwriting, and giving my father an excuse to practice his life-long love of recording. It is possible that, someday, these songs and vignettes may make their way onto an actual studio album, but for now, I'm a man on a mission, and that mission is to get something, anything, down and into sound that will leave indisputable proof that I was, in fact, here.

This first song is one that started as a joke rather than a real song. It was born in the early stages of a failed attmept at romance (that is now slowly blossoming into a very nice friendship) and one of those lovely "get to know you" chats that last until 3 or 4 in the morning. On discussing what we find attrative in the opposite sex, it came up that both of us had a certain disdain for the look of a woman, or girl, more aptly, wearing high, fur lined boots, with a mini skirt. The look has never quite seemed right to me, but this particular lady had a higher than normal distaste for this look, and so as a way to try and pacify her, and get a laugh out of the occassional drunk bar crowd, I wrote this song, aptly titled "Slut Shoes"

She speaks just like a teacher
When she’s been drinkin too muchShe tries to teach me about the wind
And the stars up in her eyes
She told me that she loves me
But I know I’m not the only one
She told him the she loves him
He don’t know he’s not the only one

I took her word when she told me
That she knew the way to go
And in the darkest dark between the sheets
She still helped me find my way
But she’s blowing in the wind now
And the sun is going down
With her eyes blacked out and her lipstick on
She’s walkin out the door now
 She’s got her slut shoes on

Oh, and I can see that she don’t care
Bout what she does to me
Yes I can see she’s got her slut shoes on

She speaks about religion
She speaks in tongues that I don’t understand
I’m workin on my resume
She’s still workin on her tan
And I know I’m not the only one
But tonight she says I’m her favorite man
And I know I’m just the foolish one
But I’m fallin in again

I been take my days so slowly
Let the liquor warm inside my glass
There’s words I know I need to say
But the opportunities slide past
My shoes don’t fit right now
Feels like my feet are not my own
With her eyes blacked out and her lipstick on
She’s walkin out the door now
 She’s got her slut shoes on