I think I hurt my brain today

I don't really remember much of Christmas. There was drink, and Rowan was there at one point which'll explain how I got so drunk. That girl is walking zone of irresponsibility.

But anyway, I've spent a lot of this morning writing my songs. I lost them all so I've been salvaging, and there are also some new ones :)

Anyway, I thought I might post one of said songs up here. It's just lyrics and chords, no actual video yet so don't get too excited, although Merlin's got some recording stuff.... hmmm...

Yeah, might have actual songs for you soon then (H)

For now, some lyrics. I believe Alex liked these.

Why the fuck am I covered in cheese sauce. And why has Rowan drawn a little set of stars on my hand with the words "Lord of Dreams" written on it? What the fuck happened last night?!

Softly crooning for moonlit remedies,

To ease out the burns of happenstance,

And to tease the thread of chance,

To etch in a new dance,

Which we so need to change our stance.

A steel stringed coffin, floating by the riverside,

Wrapped in flowers with the scent of your hair,

A certain light plays upon the woodwork,

These words have no constraints.

Singing softest words to hear the echo back,

Hearing a voice return but not the one you sighed,

Sailing words across to each other's side,

Letting whispers brush their fingertips,

Calling back the breathe you gave.

A singing sepulchre, calling every name it knows you by,

With a voice so tremulous and soft as yours,

Promising trees and dappled sun,

These words find no constraints.

Given breath to sigh and, given tears to cry,

But don't waste them on me,

Keep your cheeks dry.

Sometimes, I Win.

Hmmm... someone's influence here. I wanna say Alex, but it's got too much Kieran for that. Also, let's face it. Kinda post modern here. Possibly someone who's famous? IS there anyone famous who's like Alex? By the way, this off the cusp vodka poetry after a night of partying. Be gentle, oh ye devil-critics, for my soul is humble.

My soul is definitely not humble.


Now, I've never been one,
To -DELIBERATELY- bring some kind of alienation on myself before the deed is done,
But sometimes let's not forget mortality,
Because there's a whole lot there that frankly scares me,
And things go better and things go worse,
Like every sailor on the sea of life this is our burden and our blessing that each we must carry; for such a thing as life we must, by dint of appropriate reward, suffer such curses,
And slanders,
And lies and blunders,
To take us down each day.

And every person has a sin, and at least one virtue that they use to construct themselves,
This is what gives life to a hollow shell.
A miriad of failures and perfection,
Like a cure for cancer from vivisection,
Or the foul taste before Ecstacy's correction.
Or what you get when you're so deep in love,
That you can't tell what's below from what's above,
And every part of your life suffers because...
Just because you're too happy to say yes or no.

But every second, optimism tells me the right way,
And who am I to question an abstraction without phyiscal form when I'm still shakey from the things I did right yesterday,
And I guess I'll never tell the truth if I don't blab it,
And I guess I'll never catch the whisper if I don't grab it,
And I guess I'll never kill my doubt if I don't stab it,
And I guess I'll never make a good revolutionary unless every now and then I learn to not rhyme nor fit a pattern just because it is expected and fulfil some middle class (ironically exactly the kind of stereotype I am clumsily suggesting we drop, but please try to pick up the next word seemlessly) preconception about the form of poetry, art and literature.

So optimism is my angel on the left,
If being a total dick is my devil on right,
And all too often does lefty leave me bereft,
'Cause hubris and I think we're worth more than you might.

Aye, I've got a whole heap of sin.
And insecurities and foolishness.
I write poems,
Sometimes I win.