Have you heard Lacey? Watch as she takes the stage. Isn’t she gorgeous? She sits on her stool, or chair, or on the edge of the stage, and her long hair slides down her shoulder. The guitar settles comfortable in her hold as she plucks a few strings and tunes it to her liking. Then she strums. Her music is set on fire by her distinct voice. You keep watching her. The vocals are delicate, yet powerful. She makes her guitar sing too. One song is happy. Another is sad. Her third is jealous and spiteful. Now you’re watching and listening. Each one, you find, is stuffed with honesty. Each one, you find, rings with the energy Lacey used to create something wonderful from pain. Each one, you find, fills you with something you dismiss as deja vu. The melodies wash over you, her lyrics, carried by her voice, weave something unspeakable in and outside of her guitar playing. She’s something. You keep listening and you’re ecstatic and touched and haunted all at once.
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