Meaning and Lyrics of That Don’t Worry Me Now by Shawn Colvin

Shawn Colvin is no stranger to the intricacies of the human condition, and her lyrics often carry the weight of introspection combined with a rebellious defiance. “That Don’t Worry Me Now” is a poignant example of this duality, weaving a narrative that oscillates between existential musings and a flippant disregard for conventional salvation.

Verse 1 starts with a confrontation with an angel—an archetypal symbol of divine intervention. The line “Before you knew me, an angel came to me” sets the stage for a battle, both literal and metaphorical. The act of wrestling the angel “down to the ground” symbolizes an outright rejection of easy fixes and divine promises. Colvin’s response, “That don’t worry me now,” is a declaration of independence from traditional forms of redemption, underscoring her hardened, self-reliant exterior.

Verse 2 dismisses the angelic tales of salvation with palpable boredom. “These same old damn stories” reflect her disenchantment with repeated religious tropes. She’s weary of narratives where people are “lost oh but now they been found,” suggesting she’s uninterested in this cyclical notion of fall and redemption. Yet, her apathy—”Ain’t nobody lookin but that don’t worry me now”—illustrates a deeper, almost nihilistic acceptance of her solitude and non-conformity.

The Chorus pivots to an almost gothic sense of resolve. “I live by the sound of devils in flight” paints a picture of someone who finds camaraderie not with the ethereal realm of angels but with the rebellious, darkened path of devils. The imagery here is striking: traveling alone “in the cold, in the dead of the deep dark night” reinforces her isolation and the stark, almost romantic allure of the unknown, the forbidden, and the self-determined.

Verse 3 brings the figure of Jesus into the dialogue, but Colvin’s tone remains irreverent. “If Jesus is coming, he’d better start running” flips the script on the traditional second coming, imbued with a sense of hurry that borders on the audacious. Her admission that she won’t get to heaven is punctuated again by the refrain, “That don’t worry me now,” summarizing her disinterest in divine judgment or eschatological promises.

By the time we reach Verse 4, Colvin’s disavowal of traditional religious comfort is complete. “So if flocks of the best will sing me to my rest, I’ll never get used to that sound” directly opposes the typical vision of angelic choirs serenading souls to peace. Instead, she invokes Sam Cooke, a legendary figure in the soul genre, as her preferred accompaniment to rest. This reference isn’t just a dismissal of the sacred but an elevation of the secular, the soulful, and perhaps the human over the divine. Cooke’s voice, known for its earthy resonance and emotional depth, serves as her anchor in the human experience, encapsulated again in the dismissive refrain, “That don’t worry me now.”

In “That Don’t Worry Me Now,” Colvin crafts a narrative that’s deeply skeptical yet intensely personal. She skirts the edges of blasphemy with a cool detachment, forging a path that’s both rebellious and melancholic. Her lyrical journey through angels, devils, and divine figures is less about outright rejection and more about a profound, almost resigned sense of self-reliance and acceptance of the human condition. It’s a modern existential hymn, artfully blending the sacred and the secular with a fearless, unflinching honesty.