Keep the Faith
Without Words
The lights go out, every being in the room screams their heart out. Five men casually walk onto the stage. It’s dark, no one can see a thing, but we all sense the power that suddenly comes shining from the stage. The screaming gets louder and louder, to a deafening extent.
Flashes come from the audience, giving every pair of eyes the chance to catch a quick glance of the stage and the five beings on it.
Five men, five heroes, five guardian angels.
Five life saviours.
The spotlights clear everything up, as the band kicks in with the first song.
I can see their figures grow, as the crowd keeps cheering them on, the voices already getting soar.
I’m eight feet away from these men, I can’t breathe, I am crushed by all the people behind me trying to get closer. If I don’t receive oxygen soon, I will suffocate.
But I’ve never felt more alive than this.
The crowd roars again, as the lead singer motions us to scream louder.
My mouth is opened, but I’m not sure if any sound erupts from it.
The only thing I hear comes from the stage.
The music fills my body. My head, my heart, my soul.
This is what I exist for. This is my life purpose.
Happiness washes over me, but it soon turns into sadness, as the lead singer walks over to our side of the stage, Stage Right, giving me the opportunity to see his face better.
His face is white, deathly pale, but he’s obviously not wearing any whitening make-up. Huge bags under his eyes, only accentuated by his eyeliner.
I look over to the rhythm guitarist next to him, his face just as pale, bags just as huge as the lead singer’s. The three other men, of which I can only see the bassist clearly – who obviously missed playing a lot and shines all the way – look the same.
Jetlag got the best of them. They’re exhausted, as they’re not used to the 7 hour difference and never got the chance yet to adapt, this only being their second show of the European tour.
They’re exhausted, but they’re rocking the stage tonight, for us.
“C’mon Belgium!” loudly sounds from the boxes next to the stage and the crowd cheers again. “How are you tonight?” The singer yells, and gets another roar as response. After he asks us again, the roar reaches an incredible volume.
“We’re good too, thank you,” He says.
I know he’s lying. He’s tired, and he’s broken.
Even though the band obviously loves playing shows, they’re tired.
The singer even more than the rest of the band. He has some signs of insomnia, kept awake at night. I know he thinks of everything they accuse him of, of everyone who left him. About everything he gave up for this.
He thinks about the message he’d always been very vocal about, but he had realized the songs speak for themselves, he had realized that the message he brought in between songs was the same message the songs yelled out loud. He realized he didn’t need to speak in between songs.
Now they accused him of not caring anymore.
They said he’d forgotten the message the band was about.
He thinks about the gorgeous girl lying next to him in the bunk, who had probably been booed at again last night. She gets booed at because she loves him. People boo at her because he loves her. They don’t approve of their happiness together.
Rumours like ‘she got him back on alcohol and cocaine’ get spread, and sadly, people believe them and lose faith in this man and his heart.
At night, he ponders what he did wrong, how he changed, that made him lose so many people who had kept him alive in return for him saving them. He spends his entire night wondering, resulting in another sleepless night, just like the other by now countless nights.
They broke this man. They broke the man that had kept them breathing.
Yet, he keeps going. He keeps going, hoping that some people do still care. That some people that he’d managed to help out in life, would keep him on his feet as well.
He needs these crowds, more than they realize. He doesn’t only have the need to help them; he needs them to help him too.
They don’t realize it, but without these crowds, roaring whenever he wants, needs them to, he wouldn’t be able to cope with everything.
“I STILL CARE,” I yell, but my message drowns into the everlasting scream, deafening but keeping every being in this room going.
Suddenly, among all the other objects like bras and thongs, a whip is thrown on stage.
The singer takes it in his hand and yells “WE MIGHT NEED THIS LATER”, trying to hide behind sexual innuendos, as the majority of the crowd – teenage girls – screams, hoping he’d actually mean it.
They don’t notice the little sigh following, as he lays the whip next to all the other ‘presents’ thrown on stage.
I tear my eyes from this broken, barely fixable man, one of my saviours, and decide to watch the ever-amazing rhythm guitarist in front of me.
His eyes lock onto mine, and time stops. I freeze; our gazes are stuck on each other.
It takes an eternity before I can think again, I keep telling myself to mouth a ‘thank you’.
As something – too big for words, way larger than life and the universe – fills my being, I silently vow to this man that I would do everything in my might to keep myself from things like self-harm, suicide and that I would do all I can to protect this band from being broken by people losing faith.
My eyes fill with tears, my sight blurs, and I have to blink, making the salty liquids stream down my face. Once I can see again, the rhythm guitarist had looked away from me.
Our short seconds that lasted an eternity ended, and I felt sad – yet good, and even more alive than seconds before.
He softly smiles, the rhythm guitarist.
His eyes meet with the singer’s and the singer smiles in the same soft way.
It’s a slight smile, but more genuine than the smirks they give the crowd.
They remind each other of exactly what they do this for, as their eyes tell each other of someone in the crowd that would give up everything for this band.
Turning towards the crowd, they yell, without words.
“Keep the Faith, Forever.”
Flashes come from the audience, giving every pair of eyes the chance to catch a quick glance of the stage and the five beings on it.
Five men, five heroes, five guardian angels.
Five life saviours.
The spotlights clear everything up, as the band kicks in with the first song.
I can see their figures grow, as the crowd keeps cheering them on, the voices already getting soar.
I’m eight feet away from these men, I can’t breathe, I am crushed by all the people behind me trying to get closer. If I don’t receive oxygen soon, I will suffocate.
But I’ve never felt more alive than this.
The crowd roars again, as the lead singer motions us to scream louder.
My mouth is opened, but I’m not sure if any sound erupts from it.
The only thing I hear comes from the stage.
The music fills my body. My head, my heart, my soul.
This is what I exist for. This is my life purpose.
Happiness washes over me, but it soon turns into sadness, as the lead singer walks over to our side of the stage, Stage Right, giving me the opportunity to see his face better.
His face is white, deathly pale, but he’s obviously not wearing any whitening make-up. Huge bags under his eyes, only accentuated by his eyeliner.
I look over to the rhythm guitarist next to him, his face just as pale, bags just as huge as the lead singer’s. The three other men, of which I can only see the bassist clearly – who obviously missed playing a lot and shines all the way – look the same.
Jetlag got the best of them. They’re exhausted, as they’re not used to the 7 hour difference and never got the chance yet to adapt, this only being their second show of the European tour.
They’re exhausted, but they’re rocking the stage tonight, for us.
“C’mon Belgium!” loudly sounds from the boxes next to the stage and the crowd cheers again. “How are you tonight?” The singer yells, and gets another roar as response. After he asks us again, the roar reaches an incredible volume.
“We’re good too, thank you,” He says.
I know he’s lying. He’s tired, and he’s broken.
Even though the band obviously loves playing shows, they’re tired.
The singer even more than the rest of the band. He has some signs of insomnia, kept awake at night. I know he thinks of everything they accuse him of, of everyone who left him. About everything he gave up for this.
He thinks about the message he’d always been very vocal about, but he had realized the songs speak for themselves, he had realized that the message he brought in between songs was the same message the songs yelled out loud. He realized he didn’t need to speak in between songs.
Now they accused him of not caring anymore.
They said he’d forgotten the message the band was about.
He thinks about the gorgeous girl lying next to him in the bunk, who had probably been booed at again last night. She gets booed at because she loves him. People boo at her because he loves her. They don’t approve of their happiness together.
Rumours like ‘she got him back on alcohol and cocaine’ get spread, and sadly, people believe them and lose faith in this man and his heart.
At night, he ponders what he did wrong, how he changed, that made him lose so many people who had kept him alive in return for him saving them. He spends his entire night wondering, resulting in another sleepless night, just like the other by now countless nights.
They broke this man. They broke the man that had kept them breathing.
Yet, he keeps going. He keeps going, hoping that some people do still care. That some people that he’d managed to help out in life, would keep him on his feet as well.
He needs these crowds, more than they realize. He doesn’t only have the need to help them; he needs them to help him too.
They don’t realize it, but without these crowds, roaring whenever he wants, needs them to, he wouldn’t be able to cope with everything.
“I STILL CARE,” I yell, but my message drowns into the everlasting scream, deafening but keeping every being in this room going.
Suddenly, among all the other objects like bras and thongs, a whip is thrown on stage.
The singer takes it in his hand and yells “WE MIGHT NEED THIS LATER”, trying to hide behind sexual innuendos, as the majority of the crowd – teenage girls – screams, hoping he’d actually mean it.
They don’t notice the little sigh following, as he lays the whip next to all the other ‘presents’ thrown on stage.
I tear my eyes from this broken, barely fixable man, one of my saviours, and decide to watch the ever-amazing rhythm guitarist in front of me.
His eyes lock onto mine, and time stops. I freeze; our gazes are stuck on each other.
It takes an eternity before I can think again, I keep telling myself to mouth a ‘thank you’.
As something – too big for words, way larger than life and the universe – fills my being, I silently vow to this man that I would do everything in my might to keep myself from things like self-harm, suicide and that I would do all I can to protect this band from being broken by people losing faith.
My eyes fill with tears, my sight blurs, and I have to blink, making the salty liquids stream down my face. Once I can see again, the rhythm guitarist had looked away from me.
Our short seconds that lasted an eternity ended, and I felt sad – yet good, and even more alive than seconds before.
He softly smiles, the rhythm guitarist.
His eyes meet with the singer’s and the singer smiles in the same soft way.
It’s a slight smile, but more genuine than the smirks they give the crowd.
They remind each other of exactly what they do this for, as their eyes tell each other of someone in the crowd that would give up everything for this band.
Turning towards the crowd, they yell, without words.
“Keep the Faith, Forever.”