Florence + The Machine is one of my favorite bands these days. AND they happen to have written one of my favorite (running) songs.
Here are the lyrics:
Happiness hit her like a train on a track;
Coming towards her, stuck still, no turning back.
She hid around corners and she hid under beds,
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled.
With every bubble, she sank with her drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink.
CHORUS: The dog days are over
The dog days are done.
The horses are coming
So you better run.
CHORUS 2: Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers.
Leave all your love and your longing behind,
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive.
And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had and what was left after that too, oh
Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back
Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
'Cause here they come
and CHORUS (X2)
A couple of weeks ago, I was running in the rain, and this song came on my iPod. Those of you who know me, know that I'm pretty good at keeping emotional demonstrations in check but I couldn't stop myself from crying as this song played and I continued to run. (Like the Everly Brothers before me, "[I] do my crying in the rain.")
I was completely overwhelmed by the idea of happiness coming after me, seeking me out, insisting on being a part of my life. And I had this revelation that by running (and practicing yoga and eating right and spending time with people and the list goes on) I'd stopped running from happiness, joy, love, and lots of other good things.
There are a lot of interpretations of this song and most seem to have the common thread of running from an abusive relationship. Perhaps that's a proper interpretation but it doesn't ring true for me; I just hear the "warning" that happiness is coming - whether I like it or not. I think I'll like it.
The dog days are indeed over.