Ain’t Talkin’
A dance slowed to a walk
A long walk: through gardens, cities and the far end of the heart. The lines stop explaining and merely record what is passed. The repeated tread makes time itself the protagonist. A strange calm lives in the voice—not the absence of threat, but threat travelled too far to be worth turning back for.
As the record’s close, it carries the album’s old forms and present anxieties together into dusk. Set beside the boisterous opening, you can hear a record turn from dance into walk, from proving into being.
READ THE COMPLETE OFFICIAL LYRICSOriginal editorial interpretation: one possible listening perspective, not a claim to the songwriter’s definitive intention.
