12-11-2005, 06:34 PM
...Or somesuch. 
Just wrote this set of lyrics now (it's 5:30 am here) on the spur of the moment, finally finished them. Sort of convoluted, and the structure of the verses does change in a bit of a confusing way, but overall I'm pretty happy with it.
This one I wrote a little while ago, and some of the lines in it are taken from an old set of lyrics I wrote over a year ago. I'm very happy with it, it sort of tells a weird story I had in mind awhile ago, mainly just meant to paint a sort of odd, surreal picture you can only really 'see' with the accompanying music.
And just a little short one which I'm not really sure where to go with. Might continue it, might just leave it as-is.
Whew, that was alot of text. :bounce:
Just wrote this set of lyrics now (it's 5:30 am here) on the spur of the moment, finally finished them. Sort of convoluted, and the structure of the verses does change in a bit of a confusing way, but overall I'm pretty happy with it.
Quote:we all need to scream sometimes,
but the ones who don't are the ones who get by
and they don't feel the need to get into the heat
or else they never would've learned to fly...
or so they tell us, and it seems that they know what they mean
but there is one thing that they just can't see
they claim they can fly but they wonder why
when they jump they always lose their wings
if all these people could be turned into one,
just one little person who can hide but can't run
lest his friends who live inside him point and laugh at his fun
just what would become of his face?
he opens the door, after a long day at work
he loosens his tie and the collar of his shirt
and as he walks to the kitchen with his eyes on the floor
he thinks of all the things that make him more of a bore
he glances at the clock without seeing the numbers,
it's all routine to him now
and he always looks again, because he didn't see it then,
but he always sees the time that he knows
he gets up in the morning, at six thirty-five
has a shower and some coffee, makes him think he's alive
he sits down at the table, straightens his tie
lets his mind wander, then gets up with a sigh
he opens the door, takes the keys from the chain
settles in for the drive, he knows it's always the same
and then he wakes up in bed: it's six thirty-five,
he's dreaming his life, and he knows it's a lie
just last week, in the middle of town
a working boy quit his job
he bought a guitar, taught himself how to play
and next week he was playing to a mob
the boy came home real late one night,
saw his old man with a gun
the very last words that came out of his mouth were
"I can hide, but I just can't run"
at the funeral, well, the boy knew what to do
he brought his guitar, and a microphone too
he stood tall and proud, stared out at the crowd,
and strummed the only five chords he knew
he needed to scream sometimes,
but he was scared of being told off, or labelled for trying
so he sold his guitar, moved away somewhere far,
bought a suit, and focused on dying.
years down the road...
his hair turned gray and his bones grew old
and he thought about the youth that he'd sold...
sitting, arthritic in his million dollar chair
he'd made it through, but he was too old to care
and the very last time he got out in the air
he saw a man his own age
with a guitar
and grey hair.
This one I wrote a little while ago, and some of the lines in it are taken from an old set of lyrics I wrote over a year ago. I'm very happy with it, it sort of tells a weird story I had in mind awhile ago, mainly just meant to paint a sort of odd, surreal picture you can only really 'see' with the accompanying music.
Quote:I create a world inside my head, where everyone but me lies dead
and I can never even see past the horizon
an empty metal room, a deserted mental tomb
and the walls, they always burn me with their madness
and sometimes I can see, the man I always wanted to be
hanging bleeding, dead and broken in the doorway
but I know that there's no door, just these walls and this cold floor
and as my interest fades, my mind becomes no more
and as I stand on the shore of this island, staring across the water
the only things I see have been forgotten
and as the day drags on forever, I lay down and watch the sky
I know I cannot stay, I will soon die
weeks and weeks of starving, in this cursed empty place
there's nothing here, and there's nothing else to face
and so I lie here in the sand, words in mind and pen in hand
trying to find the words to understand
I create a world inside my head, where all my words are said
and I know now that there's really no horizon
an empty metal room, a deserted mental tomb
and the walls come down to reveal the lonely island
but still I cannot see, why it always must be me
is no one else affected by this madness?
but there's something to be said, before I fall down dead
the real world exists inside your head
And just a little short one which I'm not really sure where to go with. Might continue it, might just leave it as-is.
Quote:all these closed-minded assholes at your back and call
the ones who never knew what to do
and as you laugh and bluff, and you hide your mind
I pretend that I'm different from you
the crowds are standing in the city streets
as the rain beats down from above
a madman and another meet
as the insults fly from their tounges
the madman faces a madder streak
and what pushes him starts to shove
his eyes dilate as he becomes irate
and what he hates he starts to love
Whew, that was alot of text. :bounce:
=b
![[Image: style4,TheDarkJay.png]](http://www.sloganizer.net/en/style4,TheDarkJay.png)
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