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   >> I Was An Artiste
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11/12/09 02:35 AM
I hate to admit it... [re: ]  

But, I actually took Strawie's advice. I've been having more trouble than I expected writing lyrics, so I nabbed some from an old poem.

This one is very reverb and effect laden to direct attention away from the fact that I still suck at the guitar and my voice isn't that strong. I may add some harmonies when I get a better mic - I'm recording on a slightly better mp3 player than last time.

Also, I promise not to pussy out and take the file down this time.

Liquid snake of memories
invades my sinking skull
A sadness swiftly vines my chest,
and still, I cannot wake
to witness every pixel of my life come disengaged,
as you softly breathe my hair goodbye
and promptly lose my name

As you think to touch me one more time,
then, balking at that shining bank;
your hand, a flexing mare,
a beast so burdened by delayed restraint

Dreaming, now,
I funnel familiar through holes in time,
discover blinding white on shelves
I cannot reach in waking life
Relive every warmer bed, whispers of lurid fabric;
the zip of calloused hands over a ghostly, virgin husk

Every hushed, sweet song that broke like thunder,
parting ribs and sunny hairs,
clearing dust from epitaphs,
revealing holy, hollow stairs,
on acrid notes of fear that helped you hear ethereal sonnets,
too timid to be manifest, too bare to be dishonest

Feeling, now,
the arctic artifice that burned in secret,
the hopeless, swelling melody
that's only dumb in dreaming

you're so natural
religiously unkind

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